


miss it with a blink of an eye

by pitayas



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Flash Fic, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Siblings, Soulmates, see story notes for further detail :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-01-15 13:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 33,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21253799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pitayas/pseuds/pitayas
Summary: we are SHORT! we are QUICK! we are NOT PLANNED (kinda)! happy november!(prompts picked with an RNG, from a twitter meme (linked below), and given only a 30 minute max to write now, edit later)the twitter meme: http://tiny.cc/lfsefz :)





	1. the one about forests

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully this posts on november 1st as normal, but i don't have anything special for otabek's birthday/halloween other that this lil firecracker of a send-off! i just would like to get in the habit of writing again, and whatever gets the bread buttered, y'know? 
> 
> anyway, here some rules:  
-no repeats! even if a prompt is cool  
-no less than 400 but no more than 700, unless i like it  
-no more than 5 minutes of thoughts beforehand, but i'm allowed research breaks  
-this is for fun, so i'm cutting the prompts from 30 to 20 to have some wiggle room!
> 
> if you wanted to try this along! some prompts are written ahead of schedule bc i'm a student and its application/scorpio szn so! oh well!
> 
> hope you enjoy! <3

  
There aren’t many forests in Kazakhstan.

Most of it is desert, grass, shrubbery, and while there is nothing wrong with all of the above, Otabek sometimes wishes he had more material experience with the outdoors, because it was a little embarrassing when he was the only person to leave a finger up when somebody proclaimed they “never have I ever” ate dirt after falling out of a tree, or gotten stuck up one, or even climbed one. Just something regarding the trees.

His only tree moment was also the last time he went on a family trip. Two weeks after that, he was set to leave for Russia, and his suitcase was already zipped tight and bursting at the seams with boyish excitement. Only the essentials lay out of it: his skates, shoes, and maybe two light jackets. Ever the precocious child, even before he had to commit, Otabek was already learning how to live his life out of a suitcase.

But he wasn’t doing that on a clear April day, hours away from any rink or airport. He wasn’t worried about whether he brought enough pairs of socks or rolls of tape for a long term stay, or if that was even what he should call it because he really was just leaving his parents’ nest nearly a decade early. Instead, apropos of nothing, his parents woke him up early one day and drove themselves out to the middle of nowhere, and Otabek did not complain one bit.

When he tells Leo about the day trip and other unremarkable things he did before leaving, he makes sure to emphasize how little he complained, and how accommodating he was, ever the reliable narrator. He makes sure to mention how long ago it was, but he doesn’t talk about the details. He doesn’t mention the long squeeze his mother gave his hand when she helped him out of the car, nor how she ignored his questions.  
He talks about the way the trees stole his breath and how dizzying it felt to stare way up, but not about how his father took extra care to kneel to his height and explain each tree’s vital role in the ecosystem. Otabek took more detail to the (what at the time seemed) treacherous trails and steep rocks but elaborated less on how he fell down that steep rock and how his parents, with only him to tend to, said little but exchanged many looks. How his father hoisted him up on his shoulders for a while after, even though he was a growing boy, and growing boys don’t have much time left to sit on their fathers’ shoulders, especially not this one.

He didn’t talk about all that, and he certainly didn’t think about it when he flew over Yellowstone, or Forillon, or Shorsky. And his heart doesn’t pinch when he remembers the day ending, his parents’ giving each other one long look, and it is interrupted by a call concerning details about Otabek’s first big flight, alone. How breathing city air no longer felt right again, and it’s never quite been the same, he doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, he mentions a small magnet they bought at the gift shop, and when he finally, _finally_ returns home, he will find it on the refrigerator, and something will break.


	2. the one about tarot and Leo's sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> today's was 16: tarot and 17: exhaustion! enjoy!

As of late, Valeria had taken up tarot.

Being of her age, spiraling from one interest to the next to the next was not new nor was her insistence that Leo humors her this late evening. With small and thick fingers, unskilled and unaffected, she cuts the deck clumsily, and a few cards pop out. The Chariot, the Tower, and Death.

“And that’s your spread! Wow, lucky, lucky... I think,” she puts the deck away and arranges the spilled cards straight. “Hold on, I think... Actually, I don’t think I was supposed to… Well, I mean, does it really matter…” She hums and haws, and Leo blinks. He moves his head from one palm to the next, careful to avoid knocking over the dollar-store candles she insisted on lighting. For ambiance, for mood, how else will the cards reveal their secrets? Or so she claimed.

He nods as she fumbles over her interpretation, words float in one ear and out the other. He’s sure she must notice, but Valeria keeps talking.

“Don't… don't you have a bedtime?” Leo yawns, eyes dragging over the ripped packaging of her newest set of cards and the half dozen books about interpretation she either borrowed or bought. He hopes to God they're borrowed, and thus will not join the mountain of past discarded interests.

She shakes her head vigorously. “Ma said that I could choose between a quinceanera and no bedtime.” She grins devilishly, fittingly, and collects Leo's supposed spread in one swift hand. She tries her hand again at cutting the deck, cleaner this time, and splays them out. “Again!”

“Val, I don’t think my destiny is supposed to change every 5 minutes.”

She frowns and encompasses 100% of their mother in a single moment. Leo picks 3 cards out immediately, but still without purpose. Like dozens of times before, he places them down, face-up, and Valeria leans forward to squint at them. “Okay… okay…. I see…”

“Riveting.” Leo pulls out his phone, still dry, but still makes the rounds on social media. It’s not like he could even see a notification, though, because he’s moving purely on survival instincts and habit at this point in the night. All stories seen, all updates liked, and interactions fulfilled, and Leo puts down his phone and his head falls into the blanket below. “Are you done? Like, is it over?”

“I'm communing, God, gimme a sec,” his sister snaps, flipping through a book. She hunches close to make out the pages, and her mouth sets tight as she begins to regret the candlelight. “Leo… According to the powers that be… You should lend me 20 dollars.”  
  
Leo drags his face out of his arms to shoot a dirty look and drags it back down with a great, big sigh. Last month, it was bird-watching, and he had to chaperone her and her drivers’ permit into the woods, much to the dismay of his will to not careen off the highway. The month before that, it was sculpting, and while their parents enjoyed the small pots and paperweights, it was Leo that had to pick up the pounds of clay from the store every week. He often wished their older sisters still lived close by to do all the monitoring, the entertaining of their baby sister, but he realizes he probably wasn’t much better as a teenager. So, he deals with it, picks out the cards, holds the avian ID notes, and picks out the exploded masterpieces out of the kiln.

“Alright, I’ve got it. Look at me.” Valeria interrupts his monologue, and Leo rolls onto his back. A good brother pays attention, apparently.

“Hit me.”

“Leo… Leonardo…” She wiggles her fingers, pretending to stroke a glass ball that she couldn't afford.

“Don't call me that.”

“Leo… You have a dream. Anddd it’s suuuuper important to not just you! All of us, family ‘nd stuff.” Leo stares at her. The candlelight flickers and the medals hanging up behind them gleam, but he doesn’t comment. “And you’re very good at it. According to the cards. But-! There’s other stuff, other cool things you want to do, but you’re too busy to do them.”

“Things like…?" For the first time that night, not that he would admit it, but Leo perks up. Maybe he had been reconsidering things lately, maybe he did want more out of life, but who could he ever admit that to? He leans in, some of the exhaustion fueling a lack of realistic thinking.

“Give me rides to concerts.” And Valeria bursts out laughing, on and on until Leo hurls a pillow at her and gets up unsteadily.

He points at her and says, "I'm telling Mom you were the one who scratched up the paint on the Honda." He marches out, knowing full well he wouldn't dare wake up either of their parents, but his sister still chases after him, whispering her pleas loudly and that's the end of her tarot-ing at Leo. To his face.


	3. the one about getting stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> today we have a VERY loose 15: gaming and 24: numb! hope the gamers in the crowd hear this one!

“Hm… Truth?”

“Again? Seriously? I thought you were better than that!” Leo swings his legs out extra far, enough to throw him back, and he would if it weren’t for the boxes behind him. Otabek doesn’t respond, does not even blink, so Leo sighs a great, white sigh into the cold air.

“Alright… Tell me again why we can’t turn on the heater in the front?”

“Battery. Or so Alana says.” Otabek doesn’t claim to know much about cars, motorcycles are his forte, so he often has to rely on his friends for automotive assistance. He believes in them enough to make himself and his plus one sit out in the clouds for ages in hopes of lasting long enough for one of them to show up. This entire ordeal is making him reconsider even doing favors for anyone of them anymore, however.

He tries to look as if the temperature barely affects him, but his trembling hands and constantly shifting position give it away. Otabek wiggles as if the cold metal of the truck bed would suddenly have implanted seat warmers if he moved enough. But metal stays metal, and his jeans aren’t the best at conducting heat. “Is it your turn now?

Leo thinks about it for a second and sighs a bigger burst of white air. “How much longer did your friend say she’ll take to get here?” He glances out over the long, empty highway and finds no friend.

“Maybe another half hour.” Otabek pulls out his phone and swipes through weather notifications and apps demanding to be updated. -5° Celsius, as if he couldn’t tell. His fingers hardly have enough sensation in them to work a phone, much less send a text, so he forgoes a Hurry up text. He looks up from his screen and Leo is not faring much better. All that California blood doesn’t agree with Kazakh winters, not even his ice training helps. Otabek clicks his tongue and Leo looks up miserably.

“I want to make conversation. Like how you can’t sleep when hypothermic.” Otabek chooses his words carefully. He knows this could make or break the rest of the afternoon, and he suddenly wishes he hadn’t agreed to make the hour-long trip to pick up some boxes from an ex who isn’t even his. Better yet, he wishes he hadn’t decided to drag Leo in to waste the few hours they have together.

“So? Make conversation, then,” Leo glares back down to the ground, and the conversation is over. Otabek lets his legs out from underneath him and reaches across from them to prod at Leo, whose eyes dart back and forth, rolling his eyes. 

“You fine? Don’t answer that, that’s a dumb question.” Otabek pushes himself off the short wall of the truck bed to push up closer to Leo. "... I don't know if it's right, but sorry for having friends who have messy breakups."

Leo rolls his eyes again, but less poisonous this time. Like the feeling in his extremities, he slowly loses the will to be irritable. He knocks his head on his knees a few times and turns it to look at Otabek. “When we get home tonight… Remind me to plan a super-cool story about how I almost died in the middle of nowhere. For interviews.” Otabek sits up, attentive.

Competitive athletes (or, at least, the ones Leo and Otabek know) have a game called _ When I Get Home, _for the long trips to and from events. The goal is to come up with increasingly impossible plans for when the season's over. Otabek rolls his hands over into themselves and says precisely, "When we get home... Remind me to reactivate my Twitter account."

Leo smiles unintentionally and continues, "When we get home, remind me to repost those Facebook anti-curses. So this never happens again." He pulls his hands out from under his legs and they meet in his lap. 

"When we get home, remind me to call my mother and cook a dinner fit for the whole hockey team to apologize to you." Otabek captures Leo's hands in his own, rubbing life back into them. As expected, Leo breaths in the forest and worries around them, and breaths out ease.

"When we get home, remind me to teach you how to stop apologizing." Otabek laughs right out loud, much to his own surprise, and soon composes himself. Perfect timing, because as soon as he looks up, behind Leo, two tiny headlights make themselves known on the edge of the highway.


	4. the one about the chicken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20 is for feathers and 27 is for fragile! another otabek-focused one uwu
> 
> hope this is a good end to a monday!

“Come over here, kid, ’nd bring her, too.” An older woman plods through the mud to pull open the small door of a coop. The opening, about a yard from the ground, leads down a stairway to a grassy floor, and due to the weather, no chickens are to be seen in this particular hutch. It was a spoiled thing to do because it could be colder. At least they aren’t chickens in Minnesota, or Canada, or Russia. Otabek would know, in his thin sweats and short-sleeve shirt, what real cold feels like.

Real cold is not the pulsing heat coming off the hen he is currently clutching like a vat of boiling water. The woman shook her head when she saw the way he holds it, but allows it for now. Otabek walks carefully to her in borrowed boots. He’s never needed them in big cities like St. Petersburg or Almaty, but this one is different. It feels different, too, and not just linguistically.

When he arrives with chicken in tow, the woman motions to the opening. Otabek plops the bird down on the platform, awkwardly pushing it through the door.

“Wait— Hold on there, you shouldn’t work her feet like that.” The woman gently pulls his hands away, and he promptly stuffs them in his pockets. “Cold, are you?” She asks, clicking the small door shut. She pulls the immigration sponsorship paperwork out from under her arm and sticks it in her back pocket, readjusting her trucker jacket, even though she picked Otabek up from the airport in an SUV.

She doesn’t get an answer because he is squatting down to peer at the hen strutting ceremoniously before darting into the den. She smiles to herself. Evelyn was right; no kid can resist an animal encounter, not even the city ones. She clears her throat and Otabek’s head shoots up.

“D’you wanna see what she’s hiding?” She asks in a voice that also says, _I’m still gonna show you even if you say no_. Otabek nods. She walks a few steps to the left and unclasps the bigger door, throwing it wide open. “C’mon in.”

After locking the door behind him, Otabek turns around to see the top of the den pulled clear off. He hears the clucks of a mother hen, discontent about all the air flooding her private quarters, and of the woman, amused about whatever’s going on inside. Otabek steps closer and finds inside, brightly lit by a heat lamp, about a dozen chicks. a bakers’ dozen, in fact, as one ball rolls out from underneath another.

She smiles even wider as she watches this barely-a-teenage boy become so quickly starry-eyed at the sight of chicks. Carefully, as if she didn’t know any other way to act, she scooped up a stray chick and cupped it in her hands to protect it from the wind around them, beginning to pick up. The barely-a-teenage boy forgets he’s on a stranger’s property and leans in close, against her arm. “You wanna try holding one?”

“... Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, hold your hand out, now, closer to your body,” she instructs him, and gingerly passes the chick, stick-legs kicking up a small storm. Otabek doesn’t move, doesn’t even breath until he feels little claws grip his finger. Like he’s carrying a cup of coffee brimming to the top, ready to spill, he raises the chick to his face. Beady eyes meet his own as a head the size of his thumb swivels to absorb a world it’s never seen before. Its small heart beats wildly in Otabek’s palm, and his own heart rate soon matches. He quickly, with enough grace to safely glide a finger down an ice skate’s blade, sets the bird down and he unevenly steps back in not-his boots.

“Kid, when you start talking more, call me Clara. This ain’t my first time with a case like yours,” Clara advises him, making a mental note to buy him better fitting boots. She doesn't worry about his panic. They have more than enough time to teach him about bird etiquette.

“I’ll… try to, ma’am.” 


	5. the one about lying to go to a cool party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ope, took an extra while, so enjoy an extra long! 04 is party and 23 is shock!
> 
> enjoy!

The library in El Segundo High School is not known for being very quiet, but as long as students stay respectful and clean up after themselves, the librarians don’t mind, and with the advent of the noise-canceling headphones, the most academic students don’t care either.

One of the students perpetuating that reputation would be Leo.

“...and then he told me, ‘There’s no way it could’ve been me ‘cause I was in Nevada when it went down,’ but then his _sister_ told _my_ sister who told _me_ that their family had never even been in Nevada! What’s up with that! Do you know Ricardo’s sister?” He sat on the wooden table next to Otabek, who sat in the chair. He shakes his head, and Leo snaps his fingers, trying to remember a connection. “She’s… She’s a senior and, uh, she brought her date to the rink once? Hold on, no, that wasn’t her. I think? Coulda been, but Lina knows her better than me.

Otabek nods, still no conceivable idea of who that girl is. He flips around worksheets and notes, weighing if they still had enough time left to do any studying, but once he looks up at Leo, still thinking hard, he swings his binder shut. 

“Oh! I got it! Her boyfriend has that party next Saturday!” Leo’s eyes light up, and Otabek sits straighter. “Are you going?”

In very much the same way that the ESHS library can’t be quiet, Otabek can’t enjoy parties. The people, the tight quarters, the expectations are headache-inducing, not to mention just how little experience he actually makes it all the more confusing. He broke eye contact and thinks about it for a second. “I… I can ask. It could be a little late, though.”

Leo smiles and says. “It’s fine, but it’d be cool if you’d come. Just saying.” And before Otabek can answer him, the lunch bell rings.

Otabek nearly forgets all about it until Clara and Evelyn were recounting their own high school days at dinner.

“Do you remember the first party I went to with you?” Evelyn gleefully asks, drinking a spoonful of her pho. Otabek’s ears perk up, and he becomes quieter than he already was. Even more than half a year in, he still feels an unrelenting need to be polite in his sponsors' home. But Clara and Evelyn had been more than hospitable every day, and he was warming up to them more every day.

Clara tries to hide her grin by drinking a glass of water. “ ‘Course, I could never forget. Y’know, Otabek, I was a new kid, too, once.” She tips her glass to him and he stirs his food aimlessly. “Woulda lost my way, too, if it weren’t for this lucky lady right here.” Evelyn shoots her a look and they both laugh.

“About that…” Otabek starts, and both of the women collect themselves immediately, surprised by his initiating of a topic. That, in turn, makes him stiffen up until he clears his throat and forces himself to get over it. “I was thinking… I was told that there might be a, uh, party? Relatively soon, and, um, I just thought. It would be late, though, so might be not the best idea, but.” He clears his throat again and burns with what either of them might be thinking. He trails off, quietly slurping on a noodle.

Clara and Evelyn look at each other and, at a moment’s notice, nod simultaneously. “I don’t see why not, darling, if you’d like to go,” Evelyn says it like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world, as she says most things, and Clara nods along, as she often does. 

To Otabek, it is nothing but a concussion-inducing baseball from the left field. His mouth would fall open if it weren’t full of noodles and meat, so he settles for a very minute raise of his eyebrows. 

“You’re 15! I think we trust you to make the right decisions for yourself. I’m more surprised you hadn’t asked earlier, is all,” Evelyn continues, primly wiping soup from the corner of her mouth. 

Clara jabs a finger in the middle of the table to intercept the conversation. “I do have to ask this, though.” Otabek swallows both his food and worry and waits for her question. “Is the De La Iglesia’s son going to be there?” Otabek nods once, unwilling to give any more information about his feelings, but Clara still smiles. “Good. He keeps you straight, that boy, stay close.” And that’s the end of that conversation.

The next day, Leo pounces in the short time they have together in the morning. “So! What’d they say?”

“What did who say what?” Otabek side-eyes him, carefully closes his locker shut, still one of the remaining stragglers who insist on using them. 

Leo, at danger of tipping over any moment under his 14-lb backpack, rolls his eyes. “About Ricardo’s sister’s boyfriend’s party. Did you ask?”

“I don’t know any of those people. And yes.”

“And?” 

Otabek looks at his books for the first few classes. If he refuses to answer, he won’t have to deal with Leo’s persistence until lunch, but he’ll become consumed with the fear of what he could be thinking, his impressions and judgments. But he’s not sure he’s prepared to handle that on a bigger and more socially consequential scale at a party. Either way, he clutches those books close to his chest and feels them rise and fall with his sigh. “They… They said no.” 

The first bell rings, and students bustle around them, not in a hurry to get to class but to meet their friends. Leo falls silent for the first time that morning, so Otabek finally dares to glance at his friend’s face and he freezes. Even though he is not looking at Otabek, Leo still gives the space occupying his eyes all the intensity and bravado he would give a person. He is planning something.

“Let me talk to them.” Leo insists, all business. He adjusts his weight plus backpack and says it again. “Let me talk to Evelyn, especially, did you mention me? I’m sure if you say it’s me, they’ll let you, when—”

“_No_. No, don’t, you don’t have to do that.” Otabek panics. He didn’t anticipate Leo pushing it beyond a guardian’s naysay, but maybe he hadn’t considered if Leo legitimately wanted him there. Otabek can see his doubt on his face as easily as the blue in the sky, and quickly adds, “I’ll sneak out. If you seriously want me to come.”

Someone whom Otabek doesn’t recognize claps Leo on the shoulders as he passes, but he doesn’t give so much as a nod to acknowledge the passerby. Otabek’s eyes scan his face repeatedly, looking for any sign of affirmation or disagreement or anything. The halls begin to thin out, and he looks nervously in the direction of his first class. 

“Hm,” Leo starts. “You’re really something else, Otabek. Let’s do it.”

Otabek swallows thickly, but they nod to each other and head their separate ways. He makes it to class without getting written up, and as he sits in a class full of advanced upperclassmen, Otabek thinks to himself, _I am so goddamn dumb_.

They discuss a go-plan at lunch, in the library again. Leo does most of the talking, still amazed that Otabek would be the one to suggest such a solution. Otabek decides he rather review the history of the Mongol Empire than engage in a farce created to solve a problem that he invented, but he nods along and provides additional information when necessary. By the end of the period, Otabek knows what lies he will not be telling Clara and Evelyn (they already green-lit his wishes), what direction he will not sneak out (he will be taking the front door), and when he will meet Leo at the gate of their ranch (8:15 PM). 

Six days pass until the day of the party, and with each passing hour, Otabek is consumed more and more with the guilt of his dishonesty. If he stepped back a few meters, he might be able to assess the situation with the grace he’s used to, but he’s too close to everyone in this situation. Clara and Evelyn, who have become like a second and third mother to him by working hard to make his transition to America as smooth as possible, and Leo, and Otabek can’t possibly allow himself to think more about Leo than he already does.

When the day finally does come, Otabek lies spread eagle on his bed, dressed to leave at any moment. He hears a knock at the door and sits up properly for Evelyn to crack the door open.

“Feeling ready, champ?” She smiles sincerely, and Otabek recognizes it from every other time she’s supported him in the months he’s been in the US. Something tells him he’s far from ever losing that source of strength, and he falls back down and closes his eyes. 

“I… think so,” Otabek says deliberately. He doesn’t make any effort to face her, and whereas Clara would sit closer up to meet his eyes, Evelyn stays sat at the edge of the bed, holding his knee tight. It grounds him, and he sighs deeply.

“I’d like to tell you a brief story, if it helps.” Evelyn waits for his opposition, and when it doesn’t come, she continues. “That first time I went somewhere public with Clara, I was nervous, too. I had faith in my friends, that they would stay with me, but I didn’t know if she would stay. If she would like me.” She stops to rub his knee meaningfully. “I’m not going to make any assumptions about you and your friends, but it’s okay. You’re going to be fine. Even when it feels like it’s all falling apart, you have Clara and me, and you have your parents.”

Otabek closes his eyes and feels a wave of anxiety threaten to spill out, but with each of her words, bit by bit, it all falls away. “... Evelyn?” He tests her name out, still unsure if he’s allowed to call her such a thing. When he looks up, she is smiling softly.

“Yes, my boy?”

“That did help a lot. Thank you.” He sits all the way up and leaves behind every care in the world. His phone buzzes and as he goes to check who it is, Otabek catches the time. _8:13 PM_. “I think it’s time I go now.” She kisses the top of his head, and lets him go.

The walk to the front gate is not very long, but Otabek spends it easy and unaffected. He sits on the top plank of the fence, practicing his breathing and replaying what Evelyn had told him.

He nearly falls off the fence when he hears the rumbling of incoming traffic, but he lands right on his feet when Leo pulls up close, headlights dim. Otabek remembers the escapade he was supposed to pull off, and the night wind does little to cool off his red embarrassment.

As he pulls the passenger door open, Otabek hears Leo whistle lowly. “No offense, but I didn’t actually think you were gonna do it,” he admits, running his hands up and down the steering wheel. Otabek fastens his seatbelt and rolls his eyes, but he knows Leo can see his smile. “I half-expect to watch you drift into school Monday on a motorcycle, at this rate.”

“Maybe I am. I have a lot of free time.” Otabek makes himself comfortable, something that he finds to become increasingly easy around Leo, and his friend laughs. This wasn’t his first time in Leo’s car, but he still felt the telltale thrumming of his stomach as they begin to speed up. Being the only car on the backroads at this hour, Leo finds an adequately exhilarating speed to go at. The drive to town takes a while, so once they reach the main road, Leo punches the CD player into gear.

“Any requests? The house is on the other side of town, we’ve got time.”

“I’m fine with whatever you want,” Otabek leans against the window but doesn’t look out of it. Instead, he watches Leo drive, illuminated only by the dashboard and moonlight. He doesn’t know much about American driving laws, but by his impressions, Leo is doing remarkably well. 

Once, Leo admitted to him that driving scared him a little. Skating might involve sharp blades and possibly going 30 mph into cold, concrete ice, but that was your own fault, usually. Entering a contract with other people on the road to go double that speed and stay in your lanes with big, unwieldy vehicles took too much self-control out of it, and Leo tried to stay off the roads as much as possible for that reason. He was a careful boy, yes, but he was a show-off, too, and it was hard to balance all of that, especially at newly 15.

If Leo catches Otabek looking at him, he doesn’t say anything. He just adjusts the bass by memory (_Of course that’s the first thing he learned how to do without looking_, Otabek thought) and taps his fingers over the wheel in tandem with the music. Otabek rips his eyes away to look at his own, mildly bruised after a particularly nasty encounter with the ice. It aches, but in a faraway sense, like when you watch someone fall and you cringe as if it was your own knees bleeding and your mouth from which they swore. He feels it in his hand, in the rest of his arm, and all the way into his chest. He gulps, crosses his arms, and slouches back into the seat.

They make it to the party, an hour after it was supposed to start, and as they walk up the steps, it’s made clear that no group of people were in the house, and if they were, they were not living it up. 

When Leo knocks, a girl answers the door. Otabek can tell she’s not happy or expecting to see them, especially when she looks around impatiently and asks, “Can I help you?”

“You’re friends with Lina, right?” Leo looks over her shoulder and sees no one inside, nor any implication that any planning was even happening.

“De La Iglesia? Sure, what of it?”

“Wasn’t there supposed to be a thing today?” 

The girl’s face becomes much tighter in a matter of seconds, and her mouth twists unpleasantly. “Well, unfortunately, Robert is unavailable for your playdate tonight. Spread the word,” she spits venomously and slams the door shut.

Dumbfounded, Otabek asks, “What now?”

* * *

Eleven minutes later, they pull up to the cheapest diner open at 9 PM, without being another fast-food chain, and before he opens his car door, Otabek grabs his arm. “I, um, I didn’t bring any money. I didn’t know we’d be—”

Leo shushes him before he can finish. “It’s nothing, don’t sweat it. And! don’t worry about paybacks.” Otabek shuts his mouth unceremoniously. That’s exactly what he was going to follow up with. 

They are escorted to a table in the corner, one of many empty tables in the establishment. They both order light meals, if one can even call them that, out of politeness and thriftiness. As they wait, Leo gently kicks at Otabek’s shin from across the table. When he looks up, he says, “My bad, I didn’t want to waste your time like that. If it were _my_ party, it’d be much cooler.” 

Otabek turns a fork over and over in his hand and smiles. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind either way.”

“Were your parties back home any fun?” 

“I left Kazakhstan when I was 13, actually,” he discloses quietly. Leo stops playing with his key ring and focuses on him.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

An uncomfortable silence grows between them and Otabek becomes acutely aware of how long it’s been since he’s seen either of his parents in person. Long-distance calls are expensive, not to mention the price tag of a plane ticket, and his lungs constrict slightly.

“Sorry to hear that. I don’t know what I would do if I had to leave for so long.”

“It’s fine.” Otabek doesn’t dare say anything more than what is necessary, and thankfully, their food arrives to disrupt the tension. After niceties, they dig in and don’t look at each other, wondering what the other is thinking of him.

Leo finishes first and plays with his keys as he waits for Otabek, who is vehemently regretting his word choices. When he puts his last napkin down, they meet eyes and Leo holds up his keys. “Wanna just drive for a while?”

It was a stupid question to ask because Leo could’ve just asked if he wanted to throw his entire career away and move to the mountains of Kazakhstan, and Otabek would have still nodded. Anything as long as they stay together. 

Even though he said ‘just drive’, Leo acts with a destination in mind. He knows which turns to take, how busy which streets are when, and they find themselves in the hilly countryside soon enough. In a few minutes, Leo brings them to the edge of the paved roads and then drives some more. He doesn’t stop until they reach a bend in the road where it overseas the whole town, and he turns off his headlights.

“It’s a lot quieter up here,” Leo explains, “and there’s pretty much no chance of someone walking by and wondering why we’re just sitting here.”

Otabek nods and takes the initiative to play around with the car’s stereo and he settles on something he knows they both like. They talk about what was probably up at the not-party, about the weird things seniors did, and they carry an easy-going conversation. It was better than what Otabek had expected out of a party, and he forgets why he was so nervous in the first place. How could he ever be nervous around Leo?

The minute Otabek has that thought, his question is immediately answered.

“I still think it’s so nuts that they wouldn’t let you come, but I guess that makes some sense,” Leo wonders out loud, and Otabek freezes. “My parents are kinda like that, too, ‘specially as competition season pulls closer. But, like, I chose to skate! I’m not in it for fun, not that I hate skating, but I take it seriously!” Leo pauses to turn his head at Otabek, who can’t meet his eyes. “Do you think I don’t take things seriously?”

Otabek doesn’t answer, but he does meet his eyes. During the day, you could make out every gleam and sparkle to be found in Leo’s eyes, but at night, the moonlight doesn’t lend as much magic. Instead, you’d find the darkest browns at the bottom of caves. Caves that secrets are thrown into, screamed in, and Otabek can’t bear it any longer.

“...I have to tell you something,” Otabek manages out, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Leo shuts up immediately, turning down the music as well. “Sure, go ahead.” His voice sounds nothing like himself, like he wasn’t sure what was about to be said at all. He turns his body to face Otabek, but his head looks down the black hills as if any cars were going to interrupt them with blinking headlights, but of course, the night doesn’t blink back. It pains him how much Leo does at the earliest implication of solemnity, for Otabek. 

He stares out his window, crossing his arms to protect himself from the brisk air and the consequences of his choices. He sighs and pulls his seat up, pivoting to face Leo honestly. “That first day, after you asked me, I lied. Clara and Evelyn did let me come, I just didn’t want to go to see a bunch of strangers and listen to hours of music I couldn’t choose. But then I saw that you actually wanted me to come, so I just sucked it up and came. I didn’t know how to explain to you that first part, but it made me look like an asshole, so I just figured I wouldn’t say anything. But now that you’ve said what you just said, I realize I look like an even bigger asshole, so I have to tell you that I’m sorry.” 

Inches away from his face, Leo's eyes unfocus and stare beyond who was right in front of him. Otabek waits for a bomb to detonate, for him to force him to walk home from here, but nothing happens. “Leo, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have overcomplicated things,” Otabek continues his apology, but he trails off as he watches Leo become redder and redder, or as red as the darkness and his skin allow him to be. 

“Leo?” 

Leo pulls back a little, shocked back into reality, like he’s just understood where he is and what is happening, and he starts to laugh. First, incredulous giggles as he waited for Otabek to break and reveal the camera, but as Otabek’s face becomes more and more somber, he gets louder and louder. It reaches the point that he has to adjust his seat to avoid banging his head on the car horn, and he keeps going. And it’s not just an easy chuckle, no, it's the 'you just watched your teacher fall for a Joe Mama joke' laugh. It's the 'your friends keep adding and pilling onto the bit so much that you're all cackling incomprehensibly at each other' laugh.

Eventually, it becomes so absurd that Otabek starts to laugh as well, and at Leo’s howling, and his own short-sightedness, and the whole world. They don’t let up until tears are streaming down both their faces and then they keep going some. 

Leo settles down first, pulling his shirt up to wipe his face, but he is still grinning deliriously. “Thank God, I thought you were going to say something entirely else, you got me!”

“What else could I possibly have said?” Otabek takes a soda cup from the compartment between them and takes a big swig. 

Leo’s eyes dart away infinitesimally, and he coughs into his fist, smile waning. “I dunno, just _something_? Definitely not that.”

Otabek squints at him, weighing what could be gained by pressing further, but ultimately lets it go. He runs a hand through his hair and checks the time, winding down to look presentable enough to go home. “It’s getting late, do you mind dropping me off?”

Leo nods as he starts the car, and a wave of warm air hit them both. The ranch is surprisingly close, and Leo parks the car when he reaches the gate. When Otabek looks at him curiously, he answers, “No point in sneaking around, right?” and Otabek puts his face in his hands. Leo walks him to the front door, and they can both clearly see the illuminated porch light.

“Again, I don’t know what came over me, I should’ve just been honest, but,” Otabek begins to apologize again, but Leo bumps their shoulders carelessly.

“It’s really nothing. But I’m impressed that you would do that for me,” Leo says flippantly, and Otabek’s ears begin to burn. In the bright porch light, Leo catches this and laughs. “Don’t worry, dude, your secret’s safe with me.”

And after they exchange their goodbyes at the door, after Leo’s tail lights become smaller and smaller in the distance, after Otabek answers dozens of questions by both Clara and Evelyn, who shoo him to bed when they’ve been satisfied, after all of that, Otabek still wonders which secret Leo promised to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she's really a doozy by my standard, but we should be back on track now! thanks for reading!


	6. the one about relearning your language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07 for library (not very big this time around :/) and 30 is for inadequate!

“So, that’s why when you run your finger through a spill, it trails after your finger. Cohesion is also why water drops have that bubble look instead of flattening like paper on a table,” Leo explains, circling his pointer finger in the air to illustrate his point. He hears silence and sighs, on his back and too tired to check what he knows is true. “Are you paying attention?”

Otabek doesn’t answer, opting to stare vacantly out the one-sided windows to the rest of the library. As opposed to Almaty’s national library or a university library, it’s a relatively idle area, a plus for his situational popularity. When he comes back to, he sees Leo looking into the monitor expectably. He sighs and scratches his ear with a pen, ink side in. “But doesn’t that make it magnetic? If it sticks to itself, why doesn’t it stick to a fridge magnet?”

Leo hesitates, but continues, “Well, it’s diamagnetic.” 

“What does that _mean_?”

“It’s kinda hard to ex-” Leo stops in his tracks once he sees the look on Otabek’s face. The connection makes him look a little fuzzy over the Atlantic Ocean and a few minor seas, but the emotion is not lost. “Am I going too fast?”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Otabek drags his eyes away to scan over scattered worksheets and open textbooks. It’d been a hot minute since he actually studied, and he figured moving back to Almaty would be a good opportunity to start up again. However, he hadn’t considered what spending literal years outside of a primarily Kazakh-reading country would do to his reading comprehension. He was severely regretting his decision to call up Leo and have him watch Otabek fail.

Thousands of miles away, Leo falls back down and frowns to the ceiling. “If it’s any consolation, water properties were really hard for me, too. It’s okay to not get it.”

“Really, wonderkid,” Otabek drawls. It’s clear he doesn’t believe Leo, but that doesn’t bother him. Some people are better suited for some things, and physics wasn’t his thing. Or chemistry, he wasn’t sure what facet of science they were talking about. He’s sure the thousands of books outside this conference room in a language he’s slowly losing would tell him, but, like mentioned, he’s losing the ability to read them.

Leo pause and cracks his neck a few times. “I get it. I really do. I get it when I’m with my older family, and they start to make fun of my accent. I get it when I can’t roll my R’s. I get it when I understand the sheet music of a banda song before it’s words.” He twists his fingers together and wishes he had a hand to squeeze tight. Instead, he rolls onto his stomach and looks in Otabek’s virtual eyes. “You’ll get a hang of it again, soon. I promise.”


	7. the one about lovers' day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 09 is for holiday and 12 is for proud!

In 2011, Kazakhstan invented a holiday. April 15th was declared to be Kozy and Bayan Day, also known as Lovers Day, and was formed in opposition to Valentine’s Day. Its success is undetermined, but at its core, a lot of it has to do with national pride and history. An athlete of that country, by definition, should have a considerable amount of national pride, and Otabek Altin is no different.

However, if his boyfriend, also a national athlete, also has a day for celebrating love (in a very commercial way, sure, but still celebratory) two months earlier, what is he supposed to do? Sacrifice his pride for a different kind of pride? Maybe, but Leo and Otabek were more resourceful than that. 

“This one, this one’s gonna get you.” Leo clears his throat and flattens the candy wrapper on the carpeted floor between him and Otabek. “On a scale of one to ten, you’re a nine..” He waits for Otabek’s reaction, but he refuses to give Leo that pleasure. “And… I’m the one you need.”

“Are you implying you’re a one on your scale because I have to heavily disagree,” Otabek says in his deadpan way, taking the taffy away from Leo and taking a small bite. “I don’t like this one.”

Leo swipes it back and takes a bigger bite. “Yeah, you’re right, that’s not good.” He sorts through their collection to find a better one. “Alright, okay, here’s one: ‘If I had a dollar for every time I thought of you, I’d be in a higher tax bracket’.” He puts his arm up and rests his head on his fist, not unlike a school photo from the ’80s.

Although the pose almost makes him smile, Otabek thinks about the line and shakes his head. Leo rolls his eyes and throws it aside. “Of course you don’t like any of them!”

“I’m not a candy guy.” Otabek carefully unwraps a Hershey Kiss and reads the foil. He squints and opens his mouth but then closes it. This year’s crop of Valentines’ candy is woefully overrated in terms of their saying, but it’s better than nothing. Otabek pops the chocolate in his mouth and frowns.

Leo bumps into him with his shoulder as he looks for a new contender. “That’s not true. You like dark chocolate, don’t you?”

“I don’t see any dark chocolate.” 

Leo ignores that part. “Here’s this. ‘Does your left eye hurt’—” he pauses for effect but Otabek interrupts him.

“It actually does, a little.” 

Leo stops to stare incredulously at him. He sits up and takes Otabek’s face in his hands. “Let me look at it, were you up late last night? Don’t tell me you slept with your contacts in, I’ve told you—”   


Normally, Leo would go on much longer, but he’s swiftly interrupted once again because Otabek soon reveals his intentions. He leans up close and steals a kiss, too sweet from milk chocolate. Leo blinks a few times, still in shock, but as soon as Otabek sits back, Leo comes to and fights to keep a smile off his face.

“You were taking too long!” Otabek raises his fist to hide his mouth, but it does no good. Leo still jabs a finger in the middle of the substantial bag of candy with them.

“Am I a joke to you?” Leo tries to say seriously, but he’s so caught off guard by both the easy shots of serotonin he gets from every kiss and from Otabek’s laughter that he can’t help but grin. “I saved this bag for so long—” 

“A month.” 

“— and I couldn’t wait to share it all with you—” 

“We both know neither of us can eat this much sugar.” 

“And you make a fool of me. Are you proud of yourself?” 

“I’m sorry for that,” Otabek smiles, unapologetic. “Do you want me to kiss your ego to make it better?”

“I mean! Kinda!”


	8. the one about losing to the right person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 03 is for thief and 08 is for jealousy! all reign loose interpretations!

The pho in Grenoble leaves something to be desired. It had been a while since Otabek had a moment to sit and enjoy his old American sponsors’ cooking, but it’s richness and savory still lingered, and the most this French simulacrum could do was remind him to call Evelyn. 

He sighs and lets the styrofoam cup settle precariously on the rocky pavement below. Leo glances at him from the step above, wolfishly emptying him his cup before wiping his lips. “I know, I know, but it’s the closest place that did take-out this late.”

That’s not what bothers Otabek the most, but he doesn’t comment more than a noncommittal hum. The showy flash of gold glints in the corner of his eye, and he looks the other way. In the blink of an eye, he sees the past days’ events unfold. Short programs and long programs, sharp turns and a few blessed moments of airtime, success and defeat. On his behalf, mostly defeat.

Leo notices this, because of course he does, and scoots down to sit on the same step. “Are you doing fine? Do you want to go back inside?”

That’s actually the exact opposite of whatever Otabek wants right now, if he knew what he wanted. Did he want to win? Silver isn’t all that bad. Did he want a rematch? Leo won that medal fair and square. Did he want to be better? He shouldn’t be getting to bed soon, his flight is set to depart early tomorrow morning, back to putting his nose to the grindstone.

Despite all his internal reasoning, however, he could not help but feel like something had been stolen from him. Hell, who was he kidding, of course he wanted that gold.

Before it gets worse, Leo shakes him out of his turmoil. “Hey. What is it? I won’t get mad, whatever it is.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Fat chance. Tell me.”

“Then it’s stupid.”

Like a mule stuck in the mud, Otabek repeatedly insists for Leo to drop the subject. Leo takes absolutely none of it, and they're teenagers again, bickering over trivial things that only teenagers had the energy to devote time to. It isn’t until Leo takes a moment to stuff the medal into his jacket to gesture even more persuasively that Otabek gives himself away by stumbling over his words. Leo raises his eyebrow, looks at his chest, and then to Otabek. “Seriously?”

“Seriously _what_.” The moment the dagger-like sharpness of the ‘t’ leaves his mouth, Otabek regrets it. This isn’t like him, he knows that, but everything that could have compounded into Otabek’s sour mood, did. The tight failure, the unfamiliar soup, the mere offer of dinner by a winner to a loser, even though he knew Leo didn’t think like that. 

In much the same way, rather than spit at his feet, throw his soup all over his face, or say something nasty in the face of this conflict, Leo laughs. “Is that it?”

Otabek rolls his eyes and stuff a piece of chicken into his mouth. Leo keeps a steady gaze on him, switching tactics and opting to wait patiently. In less time than he takes to brush his teeth, Otabek caves. “It’s not that I’m jealous. I’m just exasperated. I thought I did everything right, but it’s always _something_.”

“I hate to break it to you, but there’s more to skating than physics. There’s artistry, there’s soul, there’s—”

“Spare me the theatrics, you’ve spelled it out perfectly fine the countless times you’ve given me this speech.” Otabek waves him off, but he knows Leo is right. He relies on the mechanics too much, and while his arsenal is impressive, it can only go so far.

“You’re more than welcome to steal it back next time,” Leo gently ribs, too worn out from the day’s performances to do anything more high-energy. 

Otabek shoots him a look before promptly glaring at the cobblestone at their feet. But he is human and, just like Leo, his exhaustion is not far behind. He sighs and gets up, and their one-centimeter difference never looked so huge. He holds out an empty hand, the other one holding his trash responsibly. 

From the step, Leo looks about two minutes from falling dead asleep, so he solidly grips Otabek’s wrist and pulls himself up. They meet each other’s eyes briefly, doused in the moonlight and heavy from hard work, and look away just as quickly. Together, they walk into the conference hall.


	9. the one about allergies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17 for planet, 14 for annoyance! thanks for the break!

Since as long as he can remember, Leo's parents have hacked and sniffled when certain seasons hit. While both of them enjoy a bouquet of flowers from time to time, it isn’t realistic if they want to wake up the morning after. Even though the rest of his sisters have been spared this fate, unfortunately, Leo ended up with all the allergy genes. Where a sister can roll and prance in a field whenever she likes, he must sit out.

It must be why he stuck to the ice so much growing up. No allergens or pollen can find their way on the rink, no matter how fast he goes or how high he jumps. Not the only factor, of course, but it helped. 

His rink isn’t there to help, however, when Leo is eight-deep into a sneezing fit. At his side, Otabek, knowledgeable to these furies but of no help, scrolls through his phone.

“ _ Yarhamuk-Allah _ ,” he responds automatically, but Leo can’t say anything through the ninth one. “Did you know that four or more sneezes mean something unfortunate is about to befall your family?”

Wiping his face, Leo glares at him. “This is it. This is my curse.” He takes as deep a breath as the air of Southern California will allow him, and holds a hand up to his mouth in fear of another fit. 

“Don’t say that. The Earth is not a curse.” Otabek, being of a country with about half a dozen people per kilometer, has never had to deal with faulty lungs. He waits for Leo’s apprehension to pass and continues walking down to their typical morning run path. They should be running, but Leo’s state prevented that.

“Then my body is a curse.” Leo hurries to catch up, still wary of the air. Otabek turns sharply.

“It is  _ not _ ,” he insists, serious as could be, and Leo cracks a smile. If there were anything as reliable as LA air pollution, it would be Otabek’s affirmations. They settle into an easy jog, still not where their coach would like them, but it’s better than nothing.

“How come you don’t have any allergies?” Leo speeds up a little to turn around and trot backward, much to Otabek’s chagrin.

“I respect the world and the gifts it grants me,” He vows, facetiously holy.

“Like what?” Leo skips over a jump in the concrete, long-memorized.

“You.”

Leo’s eyes widen and he stumbles a little. “Okay, don’t— that’s not fair.” He turns his back to Otabek and keeps his pace, with a different fever to worry about now.


	10. the one about soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 01 is for soulmates! finally! and 04 for comfort!

Otabek raises his hand up in the air until the moonlight catches it. He twists it around and watches the light morph on the wall across his room, his childhood bedroom. He is back home after a long-term stay in Russia, and despite his difficult time transitioning, it paid off. He could still hear dozens of medals clanging against each other as he carried boxes into his parent’s home. _Just for now_, he told them, and they assured him he could stay as long as he wanted. His old bed was just a little too small, his door frame felt a little less far from reach, but he might just take them up on the offer. 

Otabek watches the same moon he watched in Russia shine a spotlight down on his hand. It feels colder somehow, but not nearly as bad as Glazov winds. Early memories float back and forth across his mind, passing the time until he feels tired enough to close his eyes. Or, at least, until his own memories start playing.

He tastes savory food, hears music that he can’t understand, and sees faces he’s never seen before. He can feel a mother’s hug, unconditional and comforting but unfamiliar. He feels a strong, un-Kazakh sun beating down on his shoulders, or whoever’s shoulders he’s experiencing.

The most academic explanation for this phenomenon is some graduate-level science that prefers to call it ‘pre-encounter dissociation’, (PED), and attributes it to the strong relationship between smell, memories, and pheromones. In theory, you pass the person you’re most genetically compatible with (researchers tend to dislike the word ‘soulmate’) and catch a whiff of them and bam! Lifelong link.

Most people disagree with this notion, arguing that PED doesn’t explain shared memories from across a continent, or the deaf and blind people reporting having recognized certain senses they had lost or never been born with, in memories. Science doesn’t have an answer for the sometimes overwhelmingly vivid nature of recollections and why they come at the times they strike and what is it in certain people that draws them to each other. So, many believe in a more folkloric or sensational reason: love.

It would certainly explain why so many links become romantic, and why ‘soulmates’ have increasingly become the layman’s term for PED when three letters become too cumbersome and laborious to say. Otabek’s own parents resoundingly prefer ‘soulmates’, as do many others, and a booming industry has been cultivated out of the syndrome. 

But that’s not what Otabek is concerned with. He isn’t interested in hundred-dollar services that claim to match his memories in months, he couldn’t care less about the Hallmark movies and Valentine’s Day cards trying to cash into shared memories by being as vague as possible.  
Instead, he closes his eyes and becomes fully enveloped in a world so unlike his own he might as well as found himself across the world. He can’t move on his own accord, that would defeat the purpose of memory, but he finds that he doesn’t want to. Vibrant greens and deep blues cry out to him in every direction, the smells and sounds compete to be more overpowering than the other. He can feel himself getting pulled into a group photo, and he feels himself grin wildly, genuinely. 

Someone is talking to him, and he nods along and responds without hesitation, and even though this particular flashback isn’t new, Otabek still huffs in the real world with a need to understand. In the five years since he began remembering a stranger’s childhood, he’s become both enamored and exacerbated with the language in it. He’s never needed anything but Kazakh and Russia and the small bundle of Arabic passages memorized through years of daily prayers and festivities, not even at overseas competitions. Otabek figured he had much better things than try to figure out the half-thought, cobbled-together language that is English if he only had to spend maybe 3 days max in America.

By the nature of mnemonic links, however, he can’t help but feel at home whenever he hears it. Not English, though it certainly makes its rowdy appearance, but the smoother companion. He heard it during birthday parties, barbecues, and graduations. He heard it over dinner and behind gossiping hands. He heard it from his own mouth, felt it forming in his throat and heard it reaching his ears, and then in his real ears. _What a beautiful language_, he always thought, _and what a beautiful voice._

He opens his eyes. Shamefully, his hand drops like a brick and he holds it tight to his chest. Despite the entire world chanting _its love it's love it's love_, he still falters every time an amourous thought enters his mind. He can’t blink because he knows he will see years in a second, and his resolve will be melted by a beaming sun that he can’t place.

Otabek sits up and stumbles through his home until he falls into a bathroom, and he cups his hands under the faucet to ground himself. He’s careful to muffle all his noise for his parents, and he massages his fingers into his eye sockets until he sees fireworks, and he sighs. He looks at himself in the mirror, at his poorly circulated hands and every sign of a fall on them. He tries to remember the hands he owned for a few minutes every day, but he could not materialize them. Nobody could truly see the face that belonged to their other half before meeting them in real life, and most believe this came out of the mildly horrifying truth that one never truly sees their own face. Without cameras and mirrors, all of humanity could be living in blissful and ignorant narcissism.

If the time were to come, would he be able to recognize his stranger on sight? 

Would he be able to recognize Otabek?

Startling Otabek off a dangerous track, his watch beeps a new hour. It is officially the next day, and he’s sure he’s too freaked out to start pulling at other people’s memories, so he makes his way back to bed. Before he falls asleep, however, he remembers a key announcement: ISU preliminary assignments. He wearily scrolls through his email after forwarding it to his coach, and one event catches his eye.

Curiously enough, in about five months, he’s set to compete in Skate America. He scans the other skaters idly, past pair skaters and dancers. Deep in his heart, he knows he’s trying to find something, someone, but he just sees familiar names and their foreign countries. He is about to give up and go to sleep when he reaches the bottom of the page, where the late-alphabet countries collect. 

Sitting neatly at the bottom is the United States and to the right, typed perfectly like the last shape of a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle, is Leo De La Iglesia.


	11. the one about gardening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 is for garden and 15 is for eagerness! thanks for your time!

According to the grocery store, cucumber plants should be buried at six to eight seeds per hole, approximately five feet apart. They should take around two weeks to sprout, and another two months to mature. The location should be well-hydrated, sunny, and loose. If you’d like your cucumbers to come about a little earlier, give them a head start indoors.

Leo’s mother, familiar with vegetables in every conceivable way (enough to know cucumbers were technically classified as fruits), ignores most of these instructions. 

When he was not even old enough to compete, Leo used to sit by his mother and watch her gingerly drop three seeds into a shallow hole, and then do the same half a foot away. Every May, like clockwork, he’d watch her survey the backyard, searching for a patch of earth to treat. Because of the nature of seeding plants, she would be spared from allergy-induced sneezing fits, and when Leo grew into his own allergies, he spent more time among the vines and shrubbery. 

His older sisters were going through a simultaneous teenage rebellion phase, and his baby sister had only just learned what a ‘w’ looks and sounds like. In a family of six, he and his mother had limited time together, and the vegetable garden grew more than just vegetables. With his small hands, he had added cantaloupes, strawberries, and cilantro, and he plucked the gifts they bore whenever asked. Sometimes, he’d run out without anyone’s prompting.

She would always narrate what she was doing for his listening ears, and he nodded along as if he understood the science behind it. A lot of tips apply to most plants: water as needed, not daily; understand where and how long the sun hits certain parts of the backyard; more expensive soil does not guarantee growth; and most importantly, be generous with your effort, and you will be rewarded generously. Give and give and give, and eventually, you will receive.

A lot of people considered it to be a curse. A benevolent soul is easier to take advantage of, after all, but his mother made sure Leo never got that impression. She would say it over and over again, in every language he needed, “_Arrieros somos y en el camino andamos_.” Literally about mule drivers, but essentially, what goes around, comes around. Why be rude and prickly when allowed to put good into the world? If you are badmouthing others, what is stopping them from ruining your reputation?

As he grew into international recognition, Leo never forgot those words. These days, it was much rarer to find him sat aside his mother, tending to bushes. But each precious time he came home, he found a moment to step outside, pick the ripest cucumber, wash and slice it delicately, and brought a plate of drizzled with lime and Tajin to share with his mother.


	12. the one about eid and coming home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19 is for explosion and 28 for at peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes.... you just don't follow the prompt.... and you know what?? whatever! enjoy it nonetheless

After moving thousands of miles, Otabek Altin had to settle for something less than ideal for Eid al-Fitr. Kazakhstan and some of its surrounding countries are unique in that the majority of the population is Muslim, so taking time off for festivities is easier to do. However, as Otabek jumped from Russia to America to Canada, he had to give that up. He’d call his family, of course, and Clara and Evelyn would do their best to recreate some dishes, but he was mostly on his own. 

For these reasons and more, his first Eid back home was more than good food and nice clothes. Even though he wasn’t set to return to Almaty until the season has officially begun, July 1st, he cut his time in Canada early to make it in time for a full Ramadan. He did not reveal this to his parents until he was knocking at their door, gifts, and suitcases surrounding him. 

Standing in front of the mirror, buttoning up his dress shirt, Otabek struggled not to lose his composure as he remembered their reunion. He had grown up to meet his father’s teary eyes when he opened the door. Behind him, he could see the baby siblings whose birth he missed. Next to them, his mother, and when they met each other’s eyes, the crying did not let up until dinner time. For the first few days after, he barely left the house, relearning every square inch of it. 

For one, this dresser-mirror business. Otabek ran a hand over the varnished wood and brass handles easily remembered pulling open drawers and only ever needing a few for his only-child possessions. This time around, he could dig for hours and still not find what he needed, thanks to two new members of the Altin family.

Speaking of, the twins had only heard his static-ridden voice and seen photos or videos of him at competitions, so, to five-year-olds, he was not unlike a folk legend. To Ruslan and Lashyn, he was a tall, crying stranger who brought candy, and that was enough for a good first impression. Every once in a while, they would knock on his door, and when he squatted down to meet them, they offered him something in return for tourist trinkets from cities and countries he’s competed in and stories from those places. Ruslan was the question-asker, never satisfied with the why’s and how’s of Otabek’s life overseas. He was always shadowed by Lashyn, who tended to listen while her brother asked follow-up questions after a follow-up question. 

“Why do you talk like that?” It’s an accent because of all the other languages Otabek had to prioritize. “How many?” Kazakh, Russian, English, some French, and enough Spanish to nod along mutely. “Where did you learn Spanish?” From a good friend in America. “Who? Do I know him?” Another skater, and no. “Is he any good? Is he good like you?” Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

Ruslan’s next few questions blurred together as Otabek contemplated his last question. Leo De La Iglesia was gearing up to finally enter as a senior skater, and he often wondered how that was going. He could call, but Otabek couldn’t bear the thought of accidentally waking him up in the middle of the night and ruining everything, so he kept to himself. That didn’t mean he didn’t respond every time Leo hit him up or kept him updated on personal issues. Final exams, the news of who in their shared sophomore class had done what, his sisters’ telenovela levels of melodrama, and when the twins felt comfortable enough to stop knocking on his door, they shared baby sibling stories.

But from the late night Otabek had delivered the news of moving back anxiously to him, to the moment he was being dragged by the sleeve and by a kindergartener to early morning prayer, he noticed a worrying decline in the volume of emails, texts, and calls he received. It wasn’t like he needed hourly validation, far from it, but it dug up year-old fears: Can just a friendship stand the test of indescribable distance? Or of inescapable time zones? Canada was hard enough, and that was just a few hours difference. 

Otabek had a long day ahead of him, so he shook his worries from his head and focused on enjoying the first real holiday with his family in a long, long time. His mother insisted they do everything precisely right, every pronunciation and time needed to be as perfect as possible, and it was hard to disagree with her. When they arrived at the service, Otabek walked a few steps behind the rest of his family to let it fully sink it just how gorgeous the mosque was. Pale, muted colors meant a passerby always noticed the intricate architecture, each curling arch, and delicate spiral. The cement of the building was warm where the sunrise had begun to hit, and being so early in the morning, the attendance was lighter than usual. Inside, he could hear snatches of conversations in a variety of languages, and he took a deep breath.

After the prayer, they left quietly and quickly, careful to avoid any eyes that might recognize an international athlete in their midst. On the way home, Otabek sat in-between his younger siblings and watched his father drive and his mother make phone calls to family members set to arrive soon. He felt a strange sort of belonging, the reverse of deja vu, and when Ruslan pulled his arm to point out a dog on the street, he blinked blankly. Even with the majority of businesses closed, he could see strangers milling around, eager to get from one place to the next, with purpose. No one hurried like their paycheck depended on it, they ran to fling themselves into their parents' arms and to celebrate each other. 

At home, the twins jumped outside the car and ran into the house as soon as they were parked, and their mother hurriedly walks after them, phone in hand. Even Lashyn, whom Otabek had not seen speak more than a sentence at a time, chased after her brother, and he was left alone with his father in the car.  
  
Otabek heard him smile through his voice. “I remember when that was you running. Very agile, those two, maybe they’ll take after you.” 

Otabek bowed his head, hiding his face. “I wouldn’t want that for them, but I see it.” The last 5 years, though rewarding, were nothing short of isolating. Sitting there, he didn’t know how he made it, no matter how his parents managed. He feels a hand reach his own and jolts. 

“I know it was hard, but it was for the best. We couldn’t have provided what you needed, but you’re home now, and we will never stop being proud of you,” his father whispers, but it echoes endlessly in Otabek’s head. His breath jumps and he turns his hand around to tightly grip his hand, calloused and aged.

Without another word, they get out of the car to meet the rest of the family and feels a renewed sense of belonging.


	13. the one about little siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 28 is for carousel and 03 for admiration! really just an excuse to write more about baby siblings though uwu

When Otabek first arrived in America, it was not the language that threw him off. Russian was no problem because of its overwhelming presence in Kazakhstan, and similarly, English is somewhat of a universal language these days. Instead, it was the customs. From the misleading price tags to the inescapable flags, there was always something new to write home about. 

These days, however, with the advent of the Internet, it was getting harder to be surprised.

Earlier that day, both sets of parents decided they wanted some time to talk amongst themselves, so every sister and brother under the roof was kicked out. Leo’s older sisters were all consumed in their own marriages or families, and the younger one had discovered what newfound freedoms she’d gained upon turning 13. This left Leo, Otabek, and Otabek’s younger twin siblings to fend for themselves. Unsure of what 10-year-olds like, the couple led them to board the bus and less than an hour later, the four of them stood in front of a mall. Or rather, in front of gates that led into a plaza, a shopping district of sorts, and in all the years that Otabek had traveling in and out of the United States, he has never felt such a need to tightly hold his siblings’ hands.

At his left, just behind Lashyn, stood Leo, easily reading his body language and smiling. “It’s not that bad today, actually, there’s usually more people.” Otabek only pulls the twins closer and shoots him a look. Leo only laughs and takes his sister’s hand. Lashyn doesn’t react, or she does and she hides it behind her set eyes. Were it not for the physical resemblance, her and Otabek’s personalities would immediately tip them off as closely related. 

On the other hand, Ruslan marches forward into the crowd of people, nearly breaking his link with the rest of them. Under his breath, Otabek chastises him strongly. “I am not explaining why you got trampled by hordes of shoppers to our mother if you let go. You can find yourself another brother and sister.”

Ruslan doesn’t turn around, but he does slow down and protest in a different language. Leo knows he knows English perfectly, it’s customary to teach Kazakh elementary students these days, but the same does not hold up for Kazakh and American children. He looks to Otabek for translation, but he is busy staring his brother’s little scruffy head down. He changes tactics and looks to Lashyn, who has let go of both their hands and instead chose to pull at a bothersome loose thread on her shirt collar. He knows they’re going to be standing at the entrance for a while if nothing happens, so he falls to his knees and pries her hand away. “You’re going to make it worse if you pull like that,” he calmly explains, wrapping the now noticeably drawn out thread around his finger and snapping it off the seam. 

She nods and Leo knows she understands. He pats Otabek’s leg, and he looks down at the two of them. “Let’s just go inside already, he’ll chill out after we get some air-conditioning.” He cracks a smile, and Otabek unconsciously pulls at his shirt collar. 

“Of course, right… C’mon,” he orders to Ruslan, much more amiable this time, and his brother rolls his eyes.

“Such an attitude in such a small boy,” Leo comments out loud, and Ruslan stands to attention, bristling in all his boyish indignation. It’s much easier to read him, and Leo would say it’s the age, but the sister would beg to differ. He is about to push himself up when a hand appears in his face, and he knowingly accepts it. When he meets Otabek’s eyes, he bumps their shoulders and takes the first step forward.

The four of them, in a row like sitting ducks, eventually find their way into the main building, and simultaneously breathe a sigh of relief. True to Leo’s word, it is not as busy as outside, curiously, and Otabek feels more comfortable letting the twins walk a few strides ahead of them, allowing them to truly absorb the magnitude of American consumption. Before Leo can go through the trouble of slowly crouching down to ask politely what either of them want, the twins take their turns going up to him, specifically, and do the polite asking and pointing themselves. Or rather, Lashyn goes through the trouble of asking; Ruslan opts to point and look at him quizzically until Leo nods (it has to be Leo, for Otabek will almost certainly ask for justification) and then makes his way into a store to explore, leaving the rest to follow him inside. It’s like window shopping with less careful consideration for the products and more of an adventure factor.

Eventually, the twins lead the couple into a food court, and after some discussions and decisions, they agree to collect by an ornate fountain to eat, with Leo going his own way while Otabek and his siblings seek a shop that guarantees halal. They didn’t actually buy much, so Leo brings it upon himself to hold the day’s good in one elbow and his lunch on the other hand, just a simple shake. He sits on the edge of the fountain, careful to avoid any areas in the splash zone. He scans the tables and storefronts, knowing it must not be difficult to accommodate certain diets, but he worries more about the picky nature of the twins. Eventually, he sees the trio coming his way, holding trays and drinks and all. He makes eye contact with Otabek and smiles, who ducks his head to hide his own grin. _Five years_, Leo shakes his head to himself, _it’s been five years, and he still thinks I’m not allowed to see his teeth_.

When he is within hearing range, Leo calls to Otabek, “_¿Crees que tu sonrisa es tan linda que me voy a caer si la veo?_” 

From a few meters away, Lashyn stares him down with a look that says, _That’s not fair_. Leo shrugs and waves them over. The twins sit on either side of Leo, and Otabek rolls his eyes.

“A little,” he admits, taking the last spot. “Did you know they barely even look at Yuri? Even now?”

“That must do a number on him,” Leo takes a sip and offers some to Lashyn, who shakes her head. She holds her hand out expectantly and her older brother hands her a paper food tray and a wrapped burrito to pass down the line to Ruslan. “Did you seriously just buy Chipotle? We just left my parents’ house and you bought Chipotle?”

“He wouldn’t stop asking to go inside, he didn’t want sushi, so,” and Otabek shugs. He doesn’t look particularly happy either, but his brother looks perfectly content, so they don’t bring it up again. After forcibly holding back his hand and getting a stern look from Otabek, Ruslan splutters out a ‘_bismillah_’ and taking bites far too big for his mouth. His older brother (by 13 years) and sister (by 13 minutes) do it much more delicately, and Leo keeps sipping his smoothie. 

Sooner than later, they clean up after themselves and are on the move yet again. Properly fed, the twins are less susceptible to the shiny and bright colors of shops, and they settle into just walking for the sake of it. 

“I don’t think it really does, he doesn’t really do kids. Not even when he was one,” Otabek responds to Leo late. He insisted on taking some of the shopping bags on one of his elbows, mirroring Leo down to their interlocking hands. After about half of his drink, Leo passed it down to Lashyn, who gave it to Ruslan, who threw it away in favor of biting on the straw.

“Plisetsky?”

“Of course.”

“I want to say it’s not his fault but,” Leo hesitates. “You can’t fault him for it, I guess.”

“That’s not the point, but yeah.” Otabek kicks up invisible rocks and keeps a watchful eye on his brother, getting dangerously close to being out of sight.

“What’s the point, then?” 

Otabek looks to his shoes, then to his empty right, then back to the floor. “Well, I would say that— What, What is it?” He stops himself when both the twins come running back to them. 

“There’s! There’s a big!” Ruslan can’t catch his breath, jumping from foot to foot. Lashyn chooses to grab Leo’s wrist and subsequently pull both of them forward. 

Within seconds, they all catch sight of an absurdly gaudy carousel, complete with model horses than are sure to have their own distinct personality, backstory, and zodiac birth chart. Leo just lights up. “I remember this thing! Can’t believe they haven’t torn it down.” He lets go of Otabek to fish out quarters from his wallet, and the twins immediately regain all the energy they stored during lunchtime.

Otabek, instead of exclaiming in familiarity or excitement, blinks. It’s not that he doesn’t know what a carousel is, that would be stranger than the unseemly human smiles on equine faces. But it’s something more superficial. “Why on _Earth_ is there a carousel in this mall?”

Leo looks back at him from the machine’s pay station. “Right, we were a little too old to take it out for a ride by the time you showed up.” He gets up and pushes a few buttons, and the twins, already seated in their stallions of choice, skip forward a few times before the wheel finally begins. 

“That doesn’t help, please tell me why your mall has an entire carnival attraction inside it.” Otabek presses, gazing dumbfounded. Leo joins him by his side and leads him to sit more comfortably on a bench.

“I don’t really know, but we’ve got it anyway. There’s a bungee cord trampoline next door.” He links his arm around Otabek’s shoulders and watches the horses prance up and down, and each time the kids come into view, he throws up a thumbs-up and grins encouragingly. Otabek just nods and takes some photos to show off later.

“I… I don’t know how you do it.” Otabek whispers, unnecessary in every regard but dramatic.

“How do you mean?”

“First of all, ever catch your breath in this labyrinth of a mall.”

“I don’t usually come up here,” Leo confesses.

“And how you always know what to do. Like with them,” he nods his head to the twins, still out of their mind amazed, “or in life, at large. You fill that adult ideal, but…” Otabek stops to mess around with the packaging paper of a bag. “I don’t know. I’m spending too much time around accomplished people.”

“... Are you seriously implying you're not accomplished? Or capable? Or a great brother and a wonderful boyfriend and a fantastic person? You’ve really got a thick one up here,” Leo knocks his head against Otabek’s, joking only halfway, and he pulls back his arm to grab hold of his hand. “I’m just old from practice. You spent all your baby-rearing days in Canada getting blasted with French boys.”

“No I did _not_, don’t say things like that.” 

“Then don’t say stuff like that either. You think I don’t swoon over your bike or your, like, eight languages or worldliness?” Leo meets his eyes like he’s often done before, from across a rink or just inches away, and Otabek feels 13 again, meeting him for the first time. He felt homesick and overgrown, wearing boots 3 sizes too big, but then, like now, it all washes away in deep, dark brown. Otabek takes a deep breath and grounds himself, easily accomplished with Leo at his side, the one person who will always be his home away from home. 

Leo breathes in sync, habit from years of watching and being next to each other when possible. "When they're done, maybe after another round or two, how about we head back home?"

Otabek can't do anything but nod, and they relax into the bench together until the world demands them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please help i haven't spoken with a ten-year-old in like 3 years


	14. the one about being haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 08 is for ghost and 07 for confusion !

When you are known across the country, instantly recognizable at however many paces, it’s harder than usual to find a roommate. It’s not like the sponsorships can pay for an entire duplex for just him, not that he’d want one, so his typical options are other athletes. But that has its own host of problems: the schedules, the different kinds of personalities that go into different sports, the equipment, _God_, so much equipment. 

The point is, after he found the time ripe for moving out of his parents’ home, a lot of his new-found free time was spent putting out adverts and rejecting candidates. It goes without saying that Otabek may have unrealistically high standards, built from the fear that arose after hearing one too many college frat stories. This made the realization that Leo bust through those requirements in four seconds flat all the more extraordinary.

_Don’t just walk into my room_. They shared a bed, end of the discussion, next.

_Don’t play your stuff so loud_. There was rarely a quiet moment in their little apartment. Whether it was atmospheric or experiential, a speaker had to be hand at every moment to actually hear each other talking. Relevant to the next point, this meant they were constantly rotating the same three speakers and headphones between themselves.

_Don’t touch my things_. Similarly, there is not a moment that Leo cannot be seen without a hoodie that is a little snug on the shoulders and a little long on the torso. He walks around like he bought it, and maybe he did! Maybe he did buy it for Otabek! But ownership has been revoked, and no judge or jury can change his mind.

This and more should be the perfect recipe for the smoothest living situation possible, but with most things, there is always room for human error. 

“Babe. Baby. Wake up.”

“If it’s a video on your phone, I promise you I am not going to laugh.” Otabek peeks his eyes over the edge of their blanket. He wasn’t actually asleep, mind still teeming with the coming week’s itinerary.

“It’s not that…” Leo hesitates, and Otabek takes this as a sign of dishonesty, so he pulls the duvet over his head again. “I’m serious, look at me.”

Begrudgingly, Otabek shuffles up so the blanket gathers under his arms. “What is it.”

Quiet as he’s ever been, Leo says, “Okay, don’t laugh but… I think I heard something in the other room.”

With a start, Otabek sits up and immediately begins to pat around for his phone. “Did you hear any voices? How far away did they sound? The door, did you hear it shake or were there any cracks? What about-” 

“No, not like people! Like… I don’t know, it was probably nothing.” Leo, who has chosen to stay wrapped up, looks away.

“Tell me, it could always be something. Let me know if I can fix it”

In the dark room, Otabek can barely make out the impression of Leo’s conflicted face, moving between decisions. “It's ... okay. Fine, okay, yeah. I think your place is haunted.”

Otabek blinks. And he blinks. And he blinks again, and for good measure, he does it again a few more dozen times. 

“We’re not home much, ‘nd so it took a while for me to catch some things, but, like, now that I know, I know, and I can’t stop noticing. The windows, the noises, the flashes and shadows in the corner of my eye, it’s just constantly there and I know how I sound but I swear I’m not making a single word up.” By this point, Leo has sat up as well, and he worries the fabric underneath his fingers. 

“I… I’m sorry?”

“Why are you apologizing?” 

Otabek frowns and glances at the door. “Sorry for getting a haunted apartment, I suppose.”

“I told you, I’m not trying to be funny!” Leo shoves away the blanket, hot with embarrassment, and begins to pace. Otabek reaches over to snap a lamp awake and he rubs his eyes free of any residual exhaustion.

“And I’m not laughing, but are you suggesting someone has died in this complex? This complex built in 2003?” 

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you, you think I’m unhinged.” 

“It’s not that, I just don’t understand your rationale behind this.” Otabek swings his legs around to sit on the edge facing Leo, who squints at him through the bright light.

“It’s just there, how am I supposed to figure that out?” Leo runs a hand through his loose hair, dangerously close to pulling it out. He looks to the floor, to the lamp, to the clothing basket that is in dire need of a laundry day, and he only glimpses at Otabek for half a second before examining the rest of the room again.

“I don’t think you sound ‘unhinged’. You’re still just a little new to Almaty, I get it, and that’s nothing to be-” 

“Otabek,” Leo interrupts him sharply. He stops his pacing to “I am more than familiar with this city. I’ve spent days and weeks here, I live here. What I heard, and have been hearing and seeing, is not culture shock.”

The lamplight flickers momentarily, and they both tense up. It passes without further incident, and Leo stares his partner dead in the eyes. “You asked me to tell you, and I am telling you: something is here, I’m sure of it.”

A few seconds pass as they digest what the other might be thinking. Finally, Otabek is the one to break the silence. “I’m not going to argue the legitimacy of ghosts with you. But… Is it so bad? Are you afraid?”

“What do you mean Am I afraid? Why would I not be?”

“I’m just suggesting that as long as you’re not getting hurt… If I ever thought you were in danger, I’d cancel the lease immediately, but. You know.” Otabek stops and it’s his turn to dart his eyes around the room. “I like it here. We fit here, don’t we?”

Leo would shoot back with something about sanity and peace of mind, but his heart can’t help but ache. They do, they do, it’s nice to have somewhere to call home permanently. He sighs. “I mean, not really. Nothing yet. But what if-”

“I’ll buy one-way tickets out of this country.”

Another silence envelopes them. On the small table beside their bed, an alarm clock beeps shortly to mark the turn of the hour: 1 AM.

“... Fine. I’m gonna be fine. It’s just.” Leo walks a few feet forward and falls face-first into the bed. “It’s been bothering me for a while now and, like, I knew how this would play out but I couldn’t keep… I don’t know.”

“Would you feel better if I checked it out?”

“No, you shouldn’t, it’s probably just. Stay here. With me.”

He should go. He should try and convince Leo it was nothing, that his caffeine-amped brain was playing tricks. That it was probably just another alley cat, another stray dog, another realistic thing that would put both their minds to ease. But when he looked into Leo’s eyes, deep brown and completely transparent, he knew there was something. He understood that no matter how hard he looked, how many four-legged scavengers he could point out, it would not matter. He truly could not fix it. So Otabek settled for what he could do: he turned off the lights, pushed the comforter over both of them, and pulled Leo tight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weirdly hard to write this one?


	15. the one about a weird wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 06 is for wine and 25 for thankful!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! i'm not letting go until i meet 20 so i will persevere onward..

Otabek crosses and uncrosses his legs, full of nervous energy. It was like he was waiting for a great aunt to come up and ask about his competitions, ask if he was still on about that ‘absurd motorbike fixation’, ask about his love life. He was tempted to take a sip, but every time he brought the cup to his face, the smell of alcohol would overpower him and he’d have to put the cup down. 

“Not a drinker?” Leo had asked him humorously in the few minutes he got from being pulled this and that way from clique to cousins to classmates he’s since lost touch with and wouldn’t it be so awesome to reconnect after all this time? 

Having only spent upwards of a year and a half in California (and most of it spent hidden away in rinks and hanging out exclusively with Leo), Otabek has no such connections. Instead, he has spent most of the past two hours making painful facial expressions at Leo in the hopes they can head out for some alone time. Selfish, yes, especially at Leo’s sister’s wedding, and Otabek cares for her tremendously, but c’mon! They went to the ceremony, they took the pictures, they’ve toasted for her and her husband, what else is there to do!

“Have you not been to a wedding before? Eat food and have a good time! Enjoy yourself,” Leo had told him back at the family home. They were in charge of picking up the cake, an unwieldy two-tier thing, and they had stayed behind everyone else to prevent any bumps or mishaps. 

“I enjoyed myself well enough when her fiance asked me if I knew Korean.”

Leo had put down a stack of decorative plates to stare incredulously at him. “Did Marcus really say that?”

“He looks like the type.” 

“Don’t say things like that!” Leo had picked back up the stack and headed out the door, clearly pressed, and that needled at Otabek the entire ride to the community hall. He really shouldn’t have said that. Marcus wasn’t a bad guy, and he sincerely looked happy to spend the rest of his life with Lina. But Otabek just didn’t feel right at weddings, there was always a certain question that hung in the air above him, and now in a new relationship, he felt even more pressured to look and act a particular way.

So now, hours later, after setting up and the few opening speeches, Otabek is stuck where he is normally stuck at weddings: next to the only person he knows, holding a cup he won’t drink, making an unintentionally angry face, one not meant for Leo.

Back to the present moment, Otabek shakes his head. 

“That makes sense.” Leo directs his eyes down to his dimmed phone, only for a few seconds for the time. Maybe he needs to get a watch, and Otabek makes a mental note of that. 

“What do you mean by that? I thought you wanted me for my bad-boy tendencies,” Otabek says under his breath, just loud enough for someone farther than a chair or two from him would wonder if he was even talking. Leo catches all of it, and he laughs. Behind him is a long table full to the brim of guests, all laughing amongst themselves as well, and a few turn around to see what is going on before losing focus just as quickly as it caught on.

“Oh, I forgot. I’m only in it for the cool leather jacket and the sleek bike, thanks for reminding me.” Leo brings a hand to his forehead and leans back precariously in his seat, only for Otabek to grab the back of it and steer him back forward. The moment the chair stands stable on the ground, he draws his hand back, like it was all out of courtesy. Leo sees that and meets his eyes immediately after. Otabek doesn’t have an answer for him. Instead, he pushes the food on his plate around, now mush after countless rounds. The air feels unbearably hot, fueled by the active dance floor and the steaming buffet.

“You don’t have to be so, like, polite.” Leo grins, leaning back still. He hooks an arm around the back of his chair, a weak failsafe. By the way he fans a few times at his neck, it’s clear the heat is getting to him as well.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Otabek crosses and uncrosses his legs one more time. He picks his cup back up again but once again, the smell gets to him.

After an eye roll and minute of consideration, Leo picks up his own drink and asks, “Do you wanna head out?” The moment he hears ‘out’, Otabek grabs his jacket and begins to stand up, but Leo puts a hand on his elbow. “_Just_ for a second.”

It’s a compromise he’s willing to make to get away from the strobe lights that have begun made their flashy entrance, and he drapes his coat back down regretfully. Leo leads both of them out the side exit to a porch hidden by trees. He pulls his collar loose an inch or two and leans forward over the railing, letting his plastic cup hang precariously over the edge. Otabek mirrors him, unsure of what mood is supposed to be set, but before he can ask, Leo begins to talk. 

“I know this really isn’t your scene, but it means a lot to me for you to support my sister like this. She… You know that she kinda raised me ‘nd Val. Today’s for her, and I don’t want her to get any other impression.” He runs his eyes down the empty road, free of even a late-night jogger or parked car. “You weren’t super excited about today, but it’s better than straight refusing to show up, and I can’t ask for more than that, I guess.”

A little puddle of guilt begins to collect at the bottom of Otabek’s throat, and he’s about to open his mouth to apologize when he feels a hand wrap around his own and squeeze some reassurance back into him. Still, he can’t let it go. “You should. Ask for more. It’s not right of me to throw a fit.”

A singular car drives down the street, disregarding any traffic laws. Otabek wonders where it goes in such a hurry but that train of thought is abruptly thrown off the rails when he feels Leo press against his lips with his own, chaste and quick but all the more breath-taking. When he pulls back, Leo ducks his head and leans into his shoulder.

“I’m glad I brought you.” 

“I’m glad you chose me,” Otabek quietly responds, but his hands are shaking enough that his beverage might as well spill over. He closes his eyes and lets a breeze chill the exposed parts of his skin, and that moment alone is enough to convince him to stay the rest of the night.


	16. the one about maybe moving in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10 is for dawn and 11 is for regret!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a life i seriously was not expecting, hence the length of words and time to get this out. either way, i really liked this one, so i hope you do too!

When proposed with the idea of moving in with Otabek, Leo jumped at it. After years of spending never less than a thousand miles away from each other, he felt sure that cohabitation was the way to go, and within days, he convinced himself and Otabek that he could organize himself and his belongings enough within two months to make the 24-hour flight over the Pacific Ocean.

Most of the first month after was spent daydreaming. A little bit of a math told him just how little he knew: 5 years of being together (no amount of ‘we’re just friends’ could allow a trans-Pacific flight), bi-monthly visits at most (seeing each other at competitions was enough, their respective coaches argued), typically week-ish (landing and take-off days are debatable in their sight-seeing potential), and it all adds up maybe 210 days spent in Almaty, _just_ Almaty, nothing to say about the rest of the entirety of Kazakhstan because where is one supposed to find the time in a measly 7 days to go on a day trip to see a hill or two? Leo would have liked very much to go see a hill or two, but visits didn’t mean he could let up on his training, and he anticipates this is not going to change upon his move. 

Breaking the news to his family was a horse of a different color, not to imply that it was a bad experience. Rather, when he sat down to the dinner table, all possible segues into pronouncing his choice flew out the window. He’d lived his entire life with his family, and the thought of up and leaving was heart-pounding, even if it meant going to the love of his life._ I can call, I can text, I’ll come back every once in a while, more than that, I promise_. He repeated this and more solutions to his impending departures, he thought up countless ways to word his decision softer, but each time he whispered it to himself, it slowly dawned on him he wasn’t afraid for their reaction, but for his own.

What did it mean that he wanted to leave? Does it make him a bad person to go so far away so suddenly? Will his family think differently of him? Otabek went on his own thing as a young teenager, should Leo be making such a fuss if he’s already grown? He can take care of himself, and it wouldn’t be like he’s living alone, should he mention that?

“Maybe I should wait until tomorrow if I’m conflicted? I wouldn’t want to say something I don't mean if I’m riled up, y’know?” Leo pours himself out over the phone at breakfast.

“Sure.”

“... You don’t think I’m overthinking it, do you?”

“A little,” Otabek confesses. Leo can tell he’s scribbling in a journal, likely the same journal he had gifted him last they had seen each other, just as likely spontaneous edits to his short program. “Didn’t you ask me the same thing last night?” 

Yesterday, Leo called and came with the same concerns he just espoused. Two days ago, he called during his morning run to ask if it was rude of him to drop the bomb during a normal conversation or if he should do a whole little meeting. Last week, he claimed he couldn’t do it then because it was his great aunt’s birthday and he wouldn’t want to damper her day. Last month, he said there was a national holiday so there were more pressing things to take care over. Leo doesn’t answer him.

“If you want to inform your parents as you board your flight, that’s fine, but you need to be intentional in that.” Otabek, more than 7000 miles away, purses his lips as yet another pen turns out to be dry. He gets up from the kitchen table and rummages around cabinets for a new one. “I don’t want panicked calls from your family asking why you haven’t returned, however.”

“I know, I know, but, just… I don’t know. Maybe that’s better.”

Otabek doesn’t answer him, but it’s clear he disagrees. Leo sighs and pushes his dishes into the sink. He winces as if it would lessen the loud clanking of ceramic and glass. It’d be worse if more people lived in the house, and he’s used to adjusting his morning routine for the sanities of half a dozen people, but he reminds himself that’s no longer the case. He mindlessly wanders around the floor, picking his duffel bag, some notes for practice and a variety of other necessities. He stands at the front door, watching the sun peek just over the horizon. 

“Leo... If you’re having reservations, I understand, you don’t have to make the leap-”

“I do! I really do!” Leo rushes out. His heart ran wildly, and he tries to say everything it will take to convince both of them this is what he wants. “I’ll do it tonight. I promise.”

“I don’t want to push you into something you don’t want, but-”

“But I have to.”

Otabek doesn’t answer him, again. It’s for the best, Leo doesn’t have it in him to come up with a response. Instead, he listens to Otabek give up his pen search and sit back down. “You have a busy day today, I suggest getting on your way.”

“Yeah, okay. Love you.”

“I love you, too.” And with a click, Leo is all alone. With a laborious sigh, he twists the front door open and steps into the cool dawn air_. Out of mind, out of mind, I don’t have to do it until later_. He repeats this mantra to himself through all of practice and the day’s appointments. Otabek was right, he really did have to run from place to place, and by the time he came back home, the sun is close to setting, dousing him and his surroundings in clear yellow light. He drags himself inside, and in the foyer, he gets a rush of deja vu as the morning’s conversation comes back to him. He finds his mother preparing dinner, humming her way around the kitchen. He clears his throat and she turns around.

“Mijo! Just in time, I need you to cut some things up.” She holds up a grocery bag of vegetables. Like clockwork, they get into the rhythm of things, washing this and peeling that and _can you go outside and pick some cilantro, please_?

Before the clock strikes the next hour, his mother wipes her hands on a dishtowel and rolls her shoulders. Leo looks around and realizes he hasn’t seen another person in ages. He opens his mouth to ask, but she beats him to the punch. 

“Your father took Val to go see your sisters over in Santa Monica for a day trip, and he’s out with some friends until dinner. Which reminds me…” She pulls out her phone and calls his father, and Leo takes a seat as she talks. He can’t parse their conversation, too wrapped up in his to-do list to hear her hang up, and he doesn’t come back to consciousness until a bowl of birria is set in front of him. “Turns out he’ll have dinner at the Villalobos’ home. We’re due for some mother-son time, anyway.” His mother winks.

As they eat, Leo keeps worrying the spoon between his fingers, enough to make it slippery. The heat from the stove seems to be stronger than usual, in Leo’s opinion, and he keeps shifting and wiping his hands. More than once, he misses his mouth and after some brief apologies and thin napkins, he can’t contain it any longer. “Ma, can you come with me for a little bit? Just outside?”

She nods apprehensively, having watched him the entire duration of his prolonged discomfort, and they leave behind nearly empty and nearly full bowls.

On the back porch, Leo watches a bird flit from branch to wobbly branch from the stairs he sat on. When he hears his mother open the back door behind him, the bird swoops away, and he refocuses his attention on the grass, full and lush as a particularly rainy week. He hears her footsteps come closer as she takes a seat next to him.

“Leo… I don’t know what it is you gotta tell me, but I promise you it’s not gonna surprise me more than the two separate times you came out to me,” she tells him, humorously and calmly. He can feel her shoulders, caved over from a long day at work, push reassuringly against his, similarly tired.

“It’s… going to be a lot.”

“Whatever it is, you’re always going to have a home here with us,” she insists, and just with those 13 words, Leo feels his throat start to contract and before he can stop it, he starts to cry.

“Mom, Mom, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, I’m sorry, I-” He stumbles through his words, quickly pulling his collar up to wipe away his tears. His voice doesn’t break, his nose doesn’t fill with snot, but there is an insurmountable lump in his throat that feels impossible to face, making him much less capable of expressing himself.

“Corazon, just say it! You know I don’t like seeing you like this,” she mildly scolds him, but that doesn't stop her from pulling him into his arms. Even as a grown adult, he still comes short just an inch or two of his mother, but he feels 13 again, fresh off his first major loss.

“I just, I love you so much, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I don’t know how I’m going to say this but,” He takes a deep breath and her hair tickles his forehead. “I… I think I’m moving out.”

“You think?” Confused, his mother pulls back imperceptibly, but it makes a world of difference to Leo, who begins to cry harder. This time, it pulls at his head, drawing his temples uncomfortably tight. 

“I don’t know! I want to, but I don’t know!” He blurts out, shaking his head free from her grasp. He feels a million times colder, despite the sunset blazing down of the both of them, but it clears his head a little. “I- I think I would like to, and, like, I like the idea of it a lot, but it’s just so much and so many things to take care of, and Lina and Isa are out and about and having a great time with their lives, and I’m pretty sure Val is gonna be on her way soon, and then it’s just me and you and Dad, and what am I supposed to do? Leave you two for God knows how long, alone until one of us cares enough to visit for, like, an hour? And what am I supposed to do? Sit around and go to practice and sit around some more and then die?”

Through his tirade, Leo tried to wave and point and gesture as much as he usually did, but his mother would not let go of his hands. By the end, he gave in and let his hands hang on his knees, and she still gripped him tight. Conversely, as he reached his finished point, his voice threatened to crack in a way it hadn’t in years, and it echoes in both their ears. 

With the most practiced and deliberate voice Leo had ever heard his mother use, she said, “Leo, answer me honestly. I’m not going to get mad either way. Do you truly want to move out?”

In much the same way he had done that morning, Leo’s first instinct was to jump up and defend his decision heatedly. If he was old enough to drink, he must be old enough to know what he was doing, and what he should be doing is pack his bags because he had a flight in approximately seven days. Everything in the world told him to say yes, to wipe his face and nod his head and never speak of this again. He closed his eyes and remembered all of that. he remembered every minute he had spent with Otabek before and after and all the possible minutes in the future they could have. He remembered how frenzied the few hours they spent together at competitions always felt, and how every weekend felt endlessly shorter than the plane ride home. Then, he opened his eyes, brown and tired and conflicted, and looked into his mother’s eyes, the same brown.

“I… No. Not right now, no,” he sighed and fell back into her chest. “But-”

“You don’t have to do everything at once, mijo,” she quietly interrupted him. She began to pet his head, and both he and his hair settled down. “You are very smart at pacing yourself on the ice. Not so much off it.”

“But I want to.”

“Of course you do. Your father and I want that for you, too. But do it smartly, confidently, do it right. Don’t make such drastic changes without a plan. And he-”

Leo puts his hands up to stop before she can continue. “This isn’t about him, don’t make it about him. My worry about all of this is my own problem, it has nothing to do with him,” he says sternly and with more sincerity than he thought he was capable of today.

Instead of disagreeing with him, she smiles. “That’s just it. I think you’re a little head over heels, you’re willing to do anything. One thing you should never forget is he should do the same for you.”

Contemplative silence ensues, more on Leo’s part, and the sky slowly descends into twilight. Eventually, they hear a door shut from inside the house and Leo’s father calling for them. Before they can get up and wipe themselves clear of dust and dirt, his mother whispers to him, “If you don’t want to, I don’t have to tell him.”

Leo stands up first and thinks it over a little, another thing to add to the day’s long list. He shakes his head and holds a hand out to her. “If I can… Could I have a sec? I have to make a call.”


	17. the one about mutual friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 05 for tea and 10 for trust!

“Snot. Tears. The whole works, nothing left to the imagination,” Leo tears a small bite off his bread roll and dips it into a steaming mug of coffee. “Let me emphasize, too, we were, like, 14? 15? Somewhere around there.”

Across the table sits Yuri Plistesky, fresh off an airplane and leaning forward hungrily. He takes an animal cracker and similarly dips it into his cup. His earlier complaints about the sugar seemed superfluous now. “Why?”

“Why were we 13…?” Leo had risen at an unimaginable hour to pick him up from the airport, and his cognitive abilities had not yet caught up. A small window above the sink proves that statement true, showcasing an Instagrammable sunrise and the conspicuously empty streets of Almaty.

“No, why was he-”

“Oh! Well, Otabek was about to leave for Canada, for some French mischief, and, like. Well. You know him,” Leo trails off, holding the mug close to his face, breathing in the sweet steam. He smiles to himself and takes a sip.

“Apparently, I  _ don’t _ , so what was it?” He insists sharply. Even now, 3 years after a rooftop and motorcycle rescue, Yuri knows there are still a lot of things he does not know. And though this is not his first time meeting Leo, it’s the first in this context, away from the competition and scores. For someone who’s entire adolescence was spent in pursuit of better rinks and better coaches, Otabek’s apartment was conspicuously free of anything indicating an athlete’s home, save for a heavily-annotated calendar on the wall.

“You know! Anyway, where was I? Right, so he tells me all of this and I, my ears are still kinda busted from the stereos, but I see him and the waterworks, and I ask him, like you did, ‘Why are you crying?’ And he’s like, ‘Something, something, I love you, something,’ and I think he’s talking in the friend sense, so I’m like, ‘Oh, me too!’ And he goes catatonic, in shock.” Leo takes a second to catch his breath and rip another chunk of bread off. 

“You seriously say shit like that?” Yuri scrunches up his face, still retaining some of his boyish attitude about affection. These days, it looked like that was a part of him, not just the teenage will to be contrarian.

“What do you mean?” Being Leo’s turn to be curious, he sets down his bread to lean forward conspiratorially. He had grown up his entire life loving and being loved, and whether that was because he was American, Mexican, or of the De La Iglesia lineage, it did not matter. Considering Yuri was none of those things, it was likely a mix of all three.

“Like, you just say… I dunno. Whatever.” He gulps down his hot chocolate and winces as it burns his throat. In less time than it took to boil water, or even to fill a pot with it, their dynamics shifted wildly. Yuri is 15 again, a stranger to even the simplest things about people, and by virtue of just living more life, Leo seems to be better at being a person. At knowing others, and having friends, at those little things one can’t get with a lifetime of tutors and online school. 

The silence between them is impossible to wade through. suffocating and intimidating, and their drinks collectively cool. 

“So. Your flight-” Leo begins, but Yuri let his mug clang loudly on the table, effectively shutting him up.

“When, um. When that,” he pauses to weigh how helpful a swear word would be here, “...stuff all happened, did you ever worry that… You don’t think about looking stupid?”

“Huh?” Leo puts down his cup to give him his full attention. The heat seeps into his fingers, but it does nothing to assuage his heart. 

Yuri opens his mouth and closes it shortly after. His eyes roam anywhere but in front of him, and it reminds Leo of Otabek when he’s sifting through nearly half a dozen languages for the right word. “It doesn’t bother you that people can just laugh at you whenever, or take photographs when you’re in the middle of eating something and you go viral, or anything like that?”

Things like that were not unheard of, especially among the bigger names, but it never crossed Leo’s mind that he could be put on blast like that. He takes a long, hard look at Yuri Plisetsky, past the countless medals and hours of spotless programs and long lists of achievements. There’s not much he can recognize, they have just the one mutual friend and sport, but in a weird way, there’s something that makes Leo want to do this right, something that isn’t his upbringing or country of origin. Carefully, he says, “I… Try not to. I know what you mean, and you’re right to be cautious. But there’s more to living that looking picture-perfect.”

“I know  _ that _ ,” Yuri is quick to defend his honor, but he stops short of cursing him out.

“If randos on the street wanna take their time to pull their phone out, wait for me to eat, and take a bunch of photos for the right one to make me look like a guy in the middle of eating to post on social media for their clicks, that’s their problem. We’ve proved more than well enough that we can do great things, it’s their turn, isn’t it?”

Yuri chews on that and another animal cracker. He slowly begins to nod, and Leo smiles. “I guess that makes sense.”

At the same time, they sip the last drops of their respective drinks, and outside, Kazakh streets thaw and awaken. Leo takes both their cups and rinses them lightly, listening closely for the stirs and rustles of a certain someone finally waking up. And when he finally hears it, he shakes his hands free of water and waits patiently for a lively Russian exchange that will mean a whole week’s worth of lively Russian exchanges to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i did go back and change all the titles so they are actually titles :T


	18. the one about treasured jewelry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25 is for necklace, and 16 is for curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. Listen. i had leave to bask in the southern sun to contemplate my finished college applications, idk what to tell y'all! except that i am BACK i am SUNBURNED and ive had kiss by crj on repeat for THREE WEEKS and am ready to FINISH THIS!

In as long as Otabek has known him, Leo always had these two things: his chin-length hair, sometimes curly and sometimes not, always soft and perfect for petting; and a long, golden chain with a miniature saint basking in ethereal light at the end, swaying side to side.

At the gym, he caught its gleam momentarily in between rests, dripping with sweat. It would probably be a better idea to take it off altogether, like how Leo tied his hair up and out of the way, but each and every time, in or out of the locker room, the chain peeked over his collar. 

Similarly, on the rink, it was one of the many things that shone off Leo, mid-air or during sweeping choreography. He tried to tuck it behind his shirt as often as possible, but it always snuck out after a particularly exhilarating practice, nicking him in the face. More than once, Otabek had to hide his laughter behind his fist as once again, the Virgin Guadalupe flew up and smacked Leo on the cheek. 

Even at home, when the necklace wasn't accidentally falling into a bowl of cereal, Otabek never failed to catch its spectacular yellow glowing against Leo's brown skin, often with a towel around his neck and methodically applying product to his hair to avoid the post-shower frizz. He'll hold Leo close, as close as humanly possible, and still, he'll feel a little sliver of metal imprinting on his own chest.

The thing is, Leo doesn't wear much other jewelry. Few rings, rarely any earrings, and no other piercings to account for. And it doesn't bother Otabek, not at all, it's simply another thing to kiss and love about him, but he wonders about it sometimes.

The first time the topic came up organically was late in the afternoon, after a particularly intense training day. They had fallen into the couch and each other, barely conscious enough throw their jackets on the rack and turn some music on. Not enough to do anything productive, and by the time either of them woke up, the day had already flown by.

So, they ended up how most exhaustive days left them: tangled up in each other, weighting if there was enough time to finish an errand or two, but deciding to just cuddle instead. 

Otabek had his arm draped over the back of the cough, and the other hand deep into Leo's hair, pulling him into some kind of unconsciousness. The sun hid behind some thick curtains, and all it could do from there was paint the living room orange and yellow. 

A dozen things ran through Otabek's head. _Laundry in two days, need a new toothbrush, ran out of trash bags, fill the gas tank on the bike tomorrow._ His fingertips on the couch moved per the music, and the soft patting threatened to put him back to sleep. Leo, still half-asleep, mumbled something incoherent and scooted a little farther up. Otabek smiled privately, but that didn't stop his stomach and legs from overheating. He pressed the back of his hand to Leo's neck, testing whether a chilly shower would be a good idea, and was met with a long string of cool metal.

The necklace, somehow, managed to avoid Leo's heat. There must be some science behind it, but Otabek didn't have it in him to scrounge that class lecture up. Instead, he pulled the chain up with a finger and watched dozens of interlacing loops indented his finger. He ran his finger back and forth a few times, watched the loops bob up and down with his finger, until Leo muttered something more clearly, but still muffled.

"What're you doing, Beka?" Leo smacked his mouth a few times, the acrid taste of his mouth after a nap bothering him.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Otabek dropped the chain guiltily, going back to stroking the hair at Leo's nape.

"No, no, it's about time," Leo yawned, pulling his arms out from under himself and stretching as comfortably as he could with someone underneath him. He folded his hands under his chin and peered up at Otabek. His necklace hung dully, swinging slightly with all the disturbance. Otabek watched it as he has done many times before, and his eyes flicker up to meet Leo's.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course! Go ahead." Leo's eyebrows raise expectedly, as alert as possible so soon after a nap.

"The necklace. Is it from anyone?" Otabek tries to infuse as much nonchalance and coolness into his voice as possible, but he's anything but. The second the question leaves his mouth, he cringes. 

"Well, everything is from somebody." Leo tilts his head to the side, resting his head on one palm. 

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah." Leo quirks a smile and pulls the saint up at the end to get a better look. "It's a gift from my grandmother. My sisters have other stuff, I think Val has some hairpins. But we all have something of hers, and I swear, they're infused with good karma or something." He twists the figure between his fingers and looks up at Otabek through long lashes. "Each time I take it off, something bad happens. A bad grade, my first breakup, pneumonia once. I even keep it in during competitions."

"Oh." Otabek didn't know what he was expecting, but a family heirloom hadn't crossed his mind. He feels a little silly, laughing embarrassingly at the notion that Leo would ever keep gifts from past lovers. He breathes out easy, as Leo breathes in.

"Uh-huh. Plus, it just goes good with everything, y'know?" He drops the charm and winks, always lucid enough to flirt. His now-free hand taps a steady line of fingers across Otabek's chest, across his heart, in tempo with the music. 

Otabek nods emphatically, but he doesn't know of anything that would truly look awful on Leo. "Wouldn't it be bad luck if bad things happen if you don't have it on?"

"Well, I had it on when I met you," Leo says it casually and with an itch of an incoming yawn, but like with most things he says, there's not an ounce of dishonesty in his tone. "And I'm here now, with you. I'd say that's pretty lucky."

Blood sweeps over Otabek's face and he becomes much hotter than he already is. He tears his eyes away from Leo's to watch the dust settle around a stream of setting sunlight, flustered beyond response. Leo spots this, both because this isn't the first time he's done this and because Otabek doesn't veil his feeling around him, and reaches up to squeeze his nose lightly.

"Aw, were you worried?" He lilts, and he's exactly right, as usual. 

Instead, Otabek jerks his head to the side and says reproachfully, "Isn't it about time we make dinner?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next one might take an extra day or two, its a little inappropriately long :P


	19. the one also about soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18 is for AU, 02 is for anxiety!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LIKE CHILEAN MINERS EMERGING FROM THE DEPTHS!! i persist.... happy, uh, February.. happy 9k words...

October in Chicago, Illinois, is the weather equivalent of shaved ice: chilly, maybe not a great tank-top and flip-flop occasion, but perfectly refreshing in any measure, in local opinion. 

Leo De La Iglesia is not local. This is why his first photos for Skate America feature him bundled up in a crooked scarf (courtesy of Valeria) and a fleece jacket embellished with his country’s insignia. The outfit is largely unnecessary; being on home turf meant all this was mostly for patriotic selfies and to mildly intimidate the competition. This is also unnecessary, considering Leo’s entire brand is ‘fun and approachable’. But the garish sweater stays, alongside the misshapen scarf, and even though the breeze is warmer than an ice rink, Leo still plays up his temperature for the Instagram caption and texts back home.

The home advantage also meant interviewers are particularly incisive or smothering in the questions they ask. They were comfortable like that, and in the way someone who had been doing this since he was 13, Leo answers everything in stride. "_How are you feeling about your chances this weekend?_" Never felt better! "_Do you plan to debut anything new?_" A magician never reveals his secrets! "_Has your recent upgrade into the senior level taught you anything so far?_" Perseverance, diligence, and hard work never let anyone down!

Some of these are a result of his quick thinking; most are not. One learns how to Frankenstein answers together at the drop of a hat in most sports, and despite its gracefulness, skating is no different.

The pack moves on to barrage another arrival, and before Leo could wheel his bag to the room, a fellow American skater whistles lowly. "Poor thing."

"What is it?" Leo didn't look up, scrolling through the long lists of usernames that hearted this or commented on that. 

"Otabek Altin. Guy's never competed on U.S. soil by chance, but he's huge overseas." She flicks his phone hard enough to nearly smack it out of his hands, and Leo finally looks up to give her a look. "Surprised you've never heard of him."

"No, I have. Just asking," Leo lies, smiling brightly, politely, and ending the conversation. She rolls her eyes and walks ahead to ask their coach something, and he watches her back as he types into his phone the given name without looking down. Much to his displeasure, all Leo finds are fan accounts, not anything official. It piques his curiosity, but not enough to ask anyone around him. Instead, he pulls his duffel bag further up his shoulder and looks over to the crowd in hopes of getting a profile. No such luck, so Leo moves on, hurrying to catch up with his group again. 

Their coach is lecturing some of the earlier acts, and he relaxes. He doesn't have to perform until Saturday, and he feels sympathy for his paired and female competitors. Still, he nods along absentmindedly, and Nadine snaps for his full attention. 

"Leo. This is a very important year for you, just because you're repping the US doesn't mean the competition will be easier," she reminds him sternly, and he nods firmly. Debuts are no laughing matter, and he's certainly not laughing, and though he wishes she had a little more faith in his attitude sometimes, he agrees. From the moment Leo decided to make this sport his life, from the first time he medaled as a novice, competing as a senior and with the best felt like an insurmountable goal. But now, days away from making it a reality, his heart pounded with excitement.

After getting checked in to both the event and hotel and en route to the rink, Leo and the assortment of other American skaters split into their friend groups, happy to be reunited for his short time, and he soon finds himself in deep conversation in the middle of practice. It wears away at any air sickness he might've had and keeps his sense keen for the next few days, but he doesn't exert himself too much.

Next to them, they hear the sharp crack of body on ice and heads turn to their far corner of the rink. On instinct, Leo slides in the direction of the noise, not 100% sure who it is but moving quickly regardless. He stops short and holds a hand out.

"That sounded pretty bad! You feeling alright?" 

The skater on the floor comes to his knees and shoots a look up, cold enough to push Leo back an inch. He stands his ground, hand still in the air between them, and the skater coughs once harshly.

"Yes," he says curtly, pushing himself up in one smooth motion. He doesn't make any move to meet Leo's eyes or hand, and he can hear the cracks in his joints as the skater rolls his shoulders. He doesn't make any indication of gratitude or friendliness, and for someone so used to people opening up and being enamored with his energy, Leo struggles to keep a frown off his face. The skater looks him up and down and stares at Leo's face intently, who offers a smile. His eyes narrow, and he and skates away. 

Before he is out of earshot, Leo calls, "Be safe out there," and turns to reconvene with his friends. Most everyone on the ice has returned to their conversations, worrying amongst themselves about what if that were them.

"Sucks to be him," one of them pipes up as Leo rejoins. 

"Him being…?" Leo would rather not participate in any gossip, but his curiosity gets the better of him.

"Otabek Altin." She says his name meaningfully, like it should not be forgotten. Lights flash in Leo's head: getting introduced to someone twice in one day wasn't one forgets. "The only guy repping Kazakhstan this year, or really any year. Sucks twice, 'cause it's either him or the whole place is out the game." 

All his life, Leo trained in his backyard, only ever leaving for camps or competitions. He wonders how that would feel. It must be exciting to go somewhere new to totally reinvent yourself. But if that's the kind of person it turned out, maybe not so much.

-

"Did you see what's happening with Cindy Jackson?"

A chorus of curious no's ring around the table, Leo included. 

"She's getting married, no?" Someone pipes up in between bites. That does jog Leo's, as well as most people's, memory. Cindy Jackson, a minor celebrity known for her cult sci-fi flicks, both as a leading actress and director. A strong contender for nearly every film-related award nearly every year, yet never won. More notable, however, is her insistence she has never had someone else's memories. Leo perks up.

"Bingo. I was gonna say, it's kinda weird, what with her, like. You know."

"Probably. Imagine how the guy feels. Unless he's also like that?" The conversation continues, but Leo stops chewing. Something nasty starts to come up his throat.

"I doubt it. Hell, I doubt she's legit herself, I heard it was for-"

"I'm gonna have to take a rain check, sorry guys," Leo interrupts, standing from the table shakily. One or two people give him a weird look, but he holds his smile for a few beats longer and no one questions him, only granting him well wishes.

On the way back, Leo scrolls through his contacts. He feels an unrelenting need to talk to someone, but he knows he abandoned his only chance. Tonight feels weird, it feels different, and it irks him to not know why. It irks him more to know he was lying to himself.

More likely than not, it's the dinner conversation he just left. He never felt right talking about that stuff. Even for someone with a reputation for oversharing, soulmates were too personal a topic. Besides, much of the general discussion felt like it prioritized the wrong things, in Leo's opinion. Changing the label or finding a DNA stand to explain it all didn't matter to him in the long run. He's more concerned with the intrapersonal intentions. He worries about seeing what he wasn't supposed to see, feeling what was not "meant" to be. 

There's a lot of things, human or not, that are beautiful by themselves. Scents, sounds, sights, it's hard to doubt a higher power with some of what the world offered. But a mnemonic link between strangers to design pairs? The concept sounds a little far-fetched for Leo.

All of that, and his parents aren't linked in the slightest.

A cold wind rolls through the street, and Leo digs his hands deeper into his pockets. He walks more urgently, and his nose burns with frost that wasn't there.

His parents never officially came out to his or his sisters with his information, nor had he ever asked. But the way their eyes didn't gleam with overt familiarity over photo albums of their youths gave it away. Of course, those eyes were full of love and admiration and devotion, but not with "I remember remembering that," and that was enough to throw teenage-Leo wildly off course. No one ever told him that was ever possible. No one had ever told him the billion-dollar memory matching industry was built on false expectations. No one ever told him that even a cross-country and cross-timeline link meant nothing in terms of love. Perfect strangers could know each others' childhoods, but that didn't stop them from being perfect strangers.

So, no, Leo didn't feel overjoyed to divulge every juicy secret about a stranger he'd never met and about their childhood.

Before he realized it, Leo is at the door of the hotel most skaters were staying at. He held onto the metal handle with more force than he was used to, and he consciously weakens his grip. With that pull to the present moment, he realizes he is not alone. Sat on the wooden bench provided by the establishment, is the skater from earlier, Otabek Altin, on the phone

Given the hour, it is no surprise it took Leo a moment to recognize him. Otabek Altin sits in near-total darkness, not that it seems to matter to him, with only a far streetlight making the laziest attempt to illuminate him. By the look of it, he had been there for a long time, arm draped over the back of the bench and slumped across most of it. He took up the entire thing like that. A little rude, but more so was the way he speaks to the person on the other line. Leo doesn't know what language he was using, but it was sharp, throaty, pointed. Leo has never heard Otabek Altin speak so many words at once, but to be fair, he doesn't know much of Otabek Altin at all. 

Leo wants to ask if whatever he fell on was feeling better. He wants to ask when he was from. He wants to crank up the charm and find a way to make space for himself on the bench and do so much more, and he has little idea why. Some must have to do with a need to distract from the complicated conversation he was having by himself. Part of it came down to taste: Leo historically gravitates to dark new-kid types, the mystery never fails to attract him, but usually, there's a crack in the veneer. There's something to support the idea that he's not a complete asshole, but with this guy, Leo has no clue where to look. 

Hand still on the door, Leo keeps searching for cracks on Otabek Altin, who eventually realizes he is also no longer alone. He flicks his eyes up at Leo and gives him the same sharp glance from earlier that day. In seconds, he pulls his phone away to say, "Didn't your mother teach you to not listen to other people's conversations?" 

Bristling in a way he didn't know he could, Leo reels back for less than a second and shoots back, "Didn't your's teach you any manners?" He swings the door open and marches inside, not looking back. As soon as he makes it inside his room, however, he falls into the door, out of breath. After forcing himself to check if his roommate was back yet and getting a negative, Leo falls into his bed.

_What on Earth is up with that guy? What on Earth is up with me?_ His mind couldn't stop replaying the seconds-long exchange, and his stomach couldn't stop twisting with something he couldn't name. It has to be a bad first impression, no way he's any kind of popular with that kind of attitude. Maybe it was nerves, competition in a totally new country and facing off with the best that country has to offer must throw some off their game. Still, some manners should be expected, should they not? Leo presses the back of his hand to his cheeks, his forehead, his neck, and found nothing but heat.

This ordeal coupled with the weird reflection after dinner made for a terrible day one of Skate America. Leo rolls onto his face and doesn't bother changing out of his training clothes. Surely, he can shake this bad energy off by the weekend. In fact, he reasoned, it was probably better to wrestle with these things now rather than later, rather than in the middle of a crucial jump that could make or break his routine and his debut. So, with a twitchy but reassured mind, he closes his eyes for a good night's rest.

Instead, for the first time in months, Leo dreams of someone else's life.

Unlike some people, Leo didn't keep track of how often he dreamt, so the dry spell hadn't registered. However, it strikes him when every sense available hit him at full force. His hands grow weak with the weight of a life's worth of suitcases. His ears burn with real cold, real frost, below-zero temperatures he has never dealt with before. His feet are sweaty with athletic tape as vital as his own bones, often the only familiar factor in any given memories. The stench of creams. The gleam of medals. The whir of cameras. Sharp blades. Unfamiliar meals. Strangers' praise. More, more, more.

The vitality at these types of memories come is a well-established fact. The force at which it can strike is not, at least, not to Leo. He wants desperately to open his eyes, to end the constant firing of every nerve ending available to him, but he couldn't. As soon as it reaches unbearable, as it feels like it is going to fry him alive, everything went black. He couldn't move, couldn't feel his own lungs breathing, and before he could imagine the worst possible outcomes, someone else's eyes opened.

Expectedly, Leo does not recognize the room he's in. Not-his legs swing from the top bunk, and the room's contents are doused in orange light from a wide window, sealed shut. Outside, a wild wind howls, but you couldn't tell by how warm the sun looked. It reminded Leo of Californa sunsets, and his heart calms slightly. As a hidden clock ticks along, he sees posters hiding every inch of the walls, dozens of spare notebooks and dollar-store earbuds tossed brazenly around the floor, and thick parkas bursting out the closet. Leo would laugh if he were able to, and remembering he is not in control of his body kicks his heart back into high gear. He is about to throw himself back into a panic when an acute ringing that has been in the back of his mind turns out to be a telephone tone, waiting for instruction. 

Leo wants to hang up, to slide off this top bunk and inspect this room more closely. But he knows that isn't possible, would never be possible, and he settles for watching an unfamiliarly pale pair of hands twist an old-school Motorola around. Finally, after a couple hundred ticks of that damned clock, the fingers fly across the small numbers pads to punch in a number they have likely punched in many times before. Leo wonders if the brick phone is a sign of 2000's culture or just someone with really outdated parents, his anxiety now just brimming under the surface. It never goes away, it never stops feeling intrusive and invasive. The day Leo realized it was a two-way channel was the day he began drinking coffee, figuring more waking hours meant fewer dream hours.

The fingers were poised, ready to press a neon green call button, but they waited. This stranger hesitated. In front of them, legs stop swinging and hung numbly from the edge. For a new and unknown reason, Leo feels his pulse pick up, feels a lump form in his throat. He watches as a thumb drifts towards 'cancel', towards 'forget about it' and 'this is an awful idea'. He didn't know why he cared, but a sinking feeling in his stomach, in both their stomachs, told him this call needed to be made. He lets out a breath when resolve takes over and the neon green is pressed with much more delicacy and care than Leo is expecting.

No more than two weighty  _ brrring's  _ had passed when a click informs them both the other line is live.

A cottony sound passes through Leo's ears, making his whole body itch, but by the hitched reaction the body has, he's sure they hear different greetings. He feels a comfort that is not his own, feels hugged by whatever he should have heard.

His body responds, and Leo is taken aback by how collected the voice sounds. Collected, but ready to divulge something heavy. Leo feels sweat begin to collect down his back, though a quick trip outside to the worsening winds would probably fix that. 

The other line responds in a language Leo doesn't understand, and he feels like banging his head against a wall. Of course, he should have taken that 'Intro To Slavic Dialects' class in high school, if the accent was anything to go by. He can glean a few things from the other side: also collected, gruff, but not scratchy. It's terribly similar to his own voice, which is more youthful and polite. 

Some small talk ensues, none of which Leo gets, and all he has to go on is the aching in his lungs and the inflections in each voice. Every once in a while, he hears terms he does recognize. ISU, quad lutz, Grand Prix. It's not new information, there's a lot of on-rink material to reflect on in. Most of it uninviting and unsociable. It is a stark contrast to Leo's experience, surrounded by inspiring teammates and excited hobbyists. The rinks in these memories were not empty, not at all, but there was rarely any conversation. The most words exchanged with another was usually with one particular blond rinkmate, but it too was competitive and, sometimes, too aggressive for Leo's taste. He liked to keep his competitors and friends separate, even in one person. 

There is a lull in the conversation, and the other line asks a question that freezes the air in his borrowed lungs. Silence ensues, and even Leo holds his breath. Despite the language barrier, he feels fear tinging his blood. He feels his response, measured and careful. The other person is short with his words, but honest. He wipes his sweaty hands on his bedsheets, unexpectedly soft and freshly washed. Leo waits in anticipation, paying attention like he's never done before, and the miraculous happens.

"Pa… After this season, can I come home..?" 

The question bounces around in Leo's brain, in English and Spanish. He heard it, comprehended it, understood it. Impossibly, unimaginably, Leo could repeat back the question and know what it meant, and it shocked him to no end. He could hear the earnest in the question, the vulnerability, and it was a million times worse than not. His head began to throb with overstimulation, and the edges of Leo's vision began to spark.

"Of course, my star. Anything."

The nickname didn't even register as his panic bubbled up again. He had never heard of anything like total translation. Then again, it wasn't like he was keeping track of the latest symptoms. He had no idea if there was more conversation to be translated because as soon as the implications began to build on him, Leo woke up.

It isn't the cold sweat that slapped him most. It wasn't his roommate's snoring or the eerily similar winds outside. Instead, with the weird way one's mind worked in the space between lucidity and slumber, a quickfire association game plays out.

Pale hands. Deep voice. Sharp accent. Pro skater. "Oh God. Oh my God."

-

The next morning, Leo wishes and prays with his entire being that his coach allows him to stay holed up in his room for the day. _emotional/spiritual damages!!!!_, he claimed over text, and it was, for the most part, true. After waking up at three in the morning, fresh off a stranger's— scratch that, _Otabek Altin's_— memories, he paced as quietly as possible in the bathroom, taking turns between scream-whispering his name and staring frantically into the mirror for any sign of him being on hallucinogens. No such luck. His roommate hadn't given him a second look, laced-up sneakers out the door by 6:45 AM. So there lay Leo, watch beeping the turn of the hour and anxiously awaiting a response from his coach.

_Nice try. See you in 30. _

In the bathroom again, Leo scoured through his suitcase for something that would make him look like he had not just had a huge, life-altering realization.

But it doesn't have to be huge. It doesn't have to be life-altering. It shouldn't be. When he discovered he had nothing to hide it, Leo decided there would be nothing to hide, period. Things like this, things that only concern two people, should stay like that. Straightening his collar and fixing his backpack over his shoulder, Leo hopes it is easier done than said, and he locked his hotel door behind him.

"Matt said you get night terrors," was immediately announced to Leo upon setting blades on ice, and he resists the urge to shoot a dirty look at his roommate.

"Its nerves, is all," he replies cheerfully, allowing no room for misinterpretation. He skates wordlessly, but with a smile, with that all-American/all-De La Iglesia charm that both pulled people to him and pushed their worries out of mind. His eyes were anything but, however, skirting to the exits and around the stands for any sight of Otabek Altin. Thankfully, it seems as if he would be free of facing the real thing, and Leo breathed more calmly. He jokes like he normally does, laughs without suspicion over who is watching, and last night's horror feels years away. He stayed out longer than he should, considering men's skating would commence the next day, but he cut himself some slack. He is ready, he is at the top of his game, and no weird hang-up about a total stranger and his weird thing about losing his sense of home and where he is truly supposed to be and belong would not damper it. Leo wasn't even thinking about the desperation in Otabek Altin's voice, the acidity of his mouth when he asked that question, the tightness of his throat when he heard his father's response. That was none of Leo's business.

Coming back to the hotel at a much later hour, Leo 100% expected to finish his day Altin-free. 

Unfortunately, it seems his big eye in the sky wasn't planning that for him.

Again, with his outstretched arms and foot on a knee and stupidly mysterious gaze fixed on nothing, but still intense, Otabek Altin sits on the bench by the hotel entrance. Even with the new information, Leo still considers it ridiculous that the guy couldn't have the call in the privacy of his room.

As he approaches, Leo trains his eyes forward and struggles to not make any acknowledgment at Otabek Altin. Luckily, he doesn't even blink, only nods thoughtfully at the other side and responds in what Leo is pretty sure is not the language he heard last night. Not at the bench, but in the memory. Leo moves faster. He pulls the door open without comment, and Otabek Altin keeps talking without an edge.

_Trilingual_. _Now _that's _an icebreaker_, Leo thinks in the elevator. _Not that I want to break the ice. Just saying, if the opportunity came up- not that I would take it. _

Sitting alone in his hotel room, Matt the roommate probably avoiding his supposed night terrors, Leo doesn't feel sleepy. Probably too excited for his grand entrance tomorrow, he splashes his face with water. Looking up, Leo contemplates a face mask, some kind of pre-game ritual he should make up as he goes in as a senior. Maybe annual watch parties, or party games, or a handshake he can plan with his teammates for good luck. Anything but sleeping on time. The best he can come up with without waking anyone up, however, is a trip to the vending machine, right across from his door. A Milky Way doesn't sound too bad.

It sounds nauseating when Leo opens his door wide open and sees, impossibly, Otabek Altin, at the only vending machine on the second floor. 

He slams it shut and winces, mouthing a sorry to his sleeping neighbors. Briefly, Leo considers throwing the quarters back into his bag and getting into bed. But weighing them in his head and palm, Leo frowns. He has to get rid of all these quarters one way or another. Otabek Altin is probably gone by now.

Leo swings his door open again.

Otabek Altin is still there. Still with the same 'take-space' aura, still with a phone pushed into his ear, now with a credit card and a water bottle in tow. 

A sickness rolls in Leo's stomach, and he doesn't know if it's hunger, hatred, or head-over-heels infatuation. He doesn't think he could ever really hate someone, so that narrows it down, but 'powerful unwillingness to let him have a bigger part of my life than he has to be' is a strong contender.

An opportunity of revenge presents itself to Leo, and he considers taking it, insulting his competitor and extinguishing anything before it began, before thinking it more than a second longer. Camera, action: he opens the door, slams it immediately after, opens it again, says something unnecessarily petty, slams it once again. Not a great look.

"Um, hey. Late-night cravings," Leo chooses to say when he gingerly opens the door again, too loudly, and coughs into his fist. The sickness grows wilier, and maybe it really is a disease. 

Three feet across from him, Otabek Altin twists his mouth and does not respond. His grip on his water bottle audibly tightens, cheap plastic protesting. The phone shouts animatedly and with a life of his own, and Leo can hear a muffled version of the third language Otabek Altin apparently knows. 

"... Right." He drawls, narrowing his eyes. The phone dies off, listening in, and Leo glances at it. 

"So. I, um, didn't know you were staying here, too. Crazy, huh?" Leo couldn't stop himself, years of practicing being polite and making conversation where it should not be made under his belt. " 'Cause most rooms on this floor are doubles, and I woulda thought you stayed somewhere else, on account of being the lone wolf." He laughs more than a little frantically.

"My... coach." He leaves it at that, obviously looking down the hall. He makes no move to get going, and the part of Leo's brain that insists he uses every opportunity to look like a fool fires off.

"Of course! Them, too, of course, me too! My coach! Same! Not that she's sleeping with me. _Especially_ not that." Leo blurts out and promptly clamps his mouth shut. Before he can say anything worse, he sucks in a breath and pushes down the frog in his throat. "Are you feeling good about tomorrow?"

Otabek Altin twists his mouth in the same way Leo has seen countless times by now, and when he rips his eyes away, his competitor meets his eyes uneasily. "I'm not... worried." Leo was beginning to look like the mouth thing was more nervous than malicious.

"Same. It's my first year as a senior, so," Leo held up a pair of crossed fingers. "Praying for the best!"

"I know." Otabek nods emphatically, like Leo had seen him doing on the phone. The standoffish loner on the rink yesterday seems like only a faint memory. "Although, things don't usually look very difficult for you."

"You're not wrong." Leo's lips pull into a smile. The peace-making factor of the complement is not lost on him, and he was more than glad to take the olive branch. He continues, "I could say the same for you. Otabek, right?"

"Altin. Leo?" 

"De La Iglesia, one and only!" Leo winked, hoping it would hide the way having his name said gut-punched him into next week. 

Blissfully oblivious, Otabek nods. He shifts his shoulder to keep his phone from falling down and only then does he remember he had someone on the line. He bows his head a little sheepishly. "I should go, excuse me. Good meeting you."

"Yeah, better than last time." Immediately after that weak attempt at a joke left Leo's mouth, he regretted it, watching horrifyingly as Otabek blanches. He didn't say anything, didn't agree or disagree, just blinks and walks away. 

Leo watches him disappear around the corner and bangs his palm against the glass casing of the vending machine repeatedly. "Damn it, oh my God, why on Earth would I, ah! Aaugh! Who am I? What was that?" He distantly wishes all this man-on-machine abuse would result in a stray snack falling to his feet, but everything shook sturdily. Nothing to nurse his wounds, nothing to ease his pain. He remorsefully shoves six quarters in for his damned Milky Way and drags his feet back inside the room. 

Falling on the bed, knees weak and head swirling, was beginning to become a pattern. It was becoming a curse, a senior-level curse, he is never going to gracefully slip into his sheets again. He is now doomed to a lifetime of stressful encounters and bad sleeping habits. Only good thing is Leo didn't feel like sleeping, feels less like taking a peek at the person he just dissed to his face's childhood. 

Something should be done about that. Just as it hadn't felt right to investigate a stranger's highlight reel, it was likely worse to do it and then kick their ass in a major skating competition while taking advantage of their complicated relationship with the country they're representing, somehow. Leo didn't know what advantage he would take, but nevertheless, he doesn't trust himself. If he spends years ignoring a stranger's memories in the name of privacy, then he has a personal responsibility to inform that stranger that Leo knows it's him. At least, he would do that, if they had any way of communication.

What he needs is a plan. Leo has come out twice before, he could do it one more time. 

Telling near-stranger Otabek Altin he knew they were linked couldn't be harder than telling him he has a shitty first impression. He should apologize for that first, though. 

Despite these stressors and a resolve to formulate the perfect plan, Leo finds himself startled awake at 5 A.M. by his alarm. His head shoots up, looking for any sign of life in or out of the hotel room. Now that he takes this closer look, he notices the missing bags of his roommate and frowns. Nevermind that, today is game day. Today, Leo would make his great and fantastic and perfect debut as a senior skater, and he would win gold here and at Cup of China and then qualify for the Grand Prix and then win the whole thing and then probably forget about whatever happened last night. There were more important things at hand, he could worry about ethics in dreamscape privacy later.

With an energy that was only a little bit pretend, Leo jumps from hygiene to clothes to breakfast to practice, answering good-luck texts and mentally running through his short program dozens of times. Nothing is going to trip him up, not unstretched muscles nor familiar strangers. It doesn't bother him at all that there was a conspicuous lack of memories in his dreams last night. He isn't still thinking about the few minutes that changed his entire opinion. Forget about all of it, Leo is ready to take the world by storm.

The drive lasts well into the day, propelling him into waiting impatiently in his costume, hidden inside the same Team USA jacket he landed in, in the stands as the second male skater starts. Leo sits alone, bouncing his leg and pulling his arm behind his head. He's set to go fourth, and he doesn't know if the acidity in his mouth is excitement or fear. Years and years of practice have led up to this day. He's watched dozens of his fellow American competitors make this jump, some successful and some not, and even though he's confident he'll be the former, fear persists. A small part of him wishes his coach was there, but there's only one of her, and always errands cropping up. He'll have to settle for the eleventh hour for her vigorous encouragement, like a second mother. Leo pulls out his phone and pulls up a group chat with his family. His eyes run over a flurry of  _ buena suerte!!!!  _ and  _ knock em dead cuz _ texts, and he smiles to himself. He knows they're watching right now, and makes a note to send a message of gratitude over the cameras.

A smattering of applause catch his attention and Leo looks up. Doing so, he sees Otabek in the corner of his eye, leaning from foot to foot. Leo doesn't turn his head to stare directly at him, he can't, not surrounded by so many cameras and fans and reporters. He doesn't know what kind of story somebody can whip up from two strangers glancing at each other for half a second, but he's not going to risk it. Still, his stomach flips into itself, a cry of last night, and Leo can't help but try to cough a grimace away. 

"Did you need something?" To the left of him, Leo glances up and sees Otabek, pulling one earbud out and looking at him expectedly. He suddenly wishes he had his own pair plugged in, and wonders where his foresight went. Leo usually has them. 

Now clearly watching him, Leo sees the delicate sparkle of small adornments placed meaningfully on his costume. The fabric sits flush and closely, like it was sewn right on Otabek's body. Down his chest, bright and colorful appliques catch Leo's eyes, each carefully stitched on. In skating, equally garish and highly detailed costumes are a given, but Leo got the impression this outfit had more going on than a pretty design.

In an effort to be nice, Leo ignores the drying of his mouth and smiles. "Are you going soon?"

Otabek nods, pulling the other earbud out and twisting the cord together. It is only now that Leo sees a marginally older man on his far left, presumably his coach. The man nods emphatically, a greeting, and Leo politely nods back. Otabek hands his coach a phone with the earbuds twisted around, and an opportunity presents itself.

Despite every cell in his body screaming to turn away and mind his business, Leo tilts his head and asks, "Do you mind if I borrow those?" He points at the earbuds. "Forgot mine back in my room, I think."

There's a roar of applause as the current skater finishes his routine. A sick feeling permeates throughout Leo's body, like that was the wrong question to ask and he had pegged the wrong person and he was making wild assumptions about a complete stranger, but Otabek only blinked. He unplugs the cord from the phone and dangles the pair of earbuds in front of Leo, moving closer to accommodate the incoming clean-up crew. Leo reaches up and untangles them from his fingers, smiling gratefully. He hopes the tremble is his hands is imperceptible, but with his luck these days, he doubts it.

The speakers boom with a rundown of scores and both joy and defeat wave over the crowd. The clean-up crew exits, soft gifts in tow, and the ice is ready for Otabek. Leo, who hasn't looked away, watches as something unnameable takes over. Practiced professionalism, game mode, whatever. He and his coach exchange some words, and Leo's throat dries as he recognizes the exact same parlance he had listened to just a few nights ago. With that realization, Otabek glides into the limelight.

Behind him, Leo hears Nadine call his name, but nothing can pull him away from watching the performance. He should, after all, watch out for his competition, should he not? And sure, maybe that shouldn't include the quickening of the heart and becoming so hot he feels an overwhelming urge to take off his jacket, but he is studying the competition nonetheless. Otabek, whom Leo has not shared more than ten collective minutes with, whom no one can help but call him by his whole name, who maybe just glanced surreptitiously at the entrance where Leo sat, took his starting position. The speakers announce, "Representing Kazakhstan, Otabek Altin!" And after the resonant applause succumbs to the chilly silence of anticipation, the music begins.

"Leo... Leo! C'mon, now's not the time to go moony, come back to me," Nadine puts a firm hand on his shoulder and Leo looks away, finally, and his pulse thanks him for it. 

"Yeah?" His voice wavers, and he bites his tongue for it. His coach gives him a strained look and rolls her eyes.

"We can talk about this, this thing later."

"What thing?" Leo stands up with some effort, uncurling the borrowed earbuds and snapping them into his phone. Without looking, he finds the mp3 file and it plays close to his ears as Nadine takes both his shoulders in hand. 

"Don't 'what thing' me, hon, you know better. Now, talk to me, how are you feeling? Are you ready?" 

"I'm ready." Leo swallows thickly and tries not to look over her shoulder. Through his own music, he hears the swells of classical music, and he makes a note to ask for its name.

"You going to break this thing wide open or what?" She shakes him once, definite and grounding, and valor begins to build inside him.

A gasp rolls through the crowd, and Leo's breath catches, but he keeps his eyes trained on his coach. "I, I am going to break it all open."

"Why? Because you're Leo De La Iglesia, and you're the best this country has to offer. Say it with me." 

"Because I'm Leo De La Iglesia, and I'm the best this country has to offer!" Together, they repeat this affirmation two more times, and Nadine hauls him close. The world dulls around the two of them, and Leo can't remember what he was so distracted from anymore.

"Watch your stamina. Remember what I told you about your jumps. Keep moving no matter what. And we are all so unbelievably proud of you," she whispers fiercely in his ear, and Leo nods against her. The earbuds strain to stay hooked around his ears, but both his carefully curated music and Nadine's steady embrace push Leo to a point of invincibility. After she lets go, he unzips his jacket and lets it fall on the seat behind him. His coach looks him dotingly and runs a hand down his head to manage any free hairs. 

"Call your mom, too." She pats the side of his face and lets go. 

Around them, the music comes to a resolute finish, and the applause is deafening. Leo focuses his eyes once again on Otabek, who bows appreciatively and then throws up one clenched fist. He makes his way off the ice, and as he approaches, Leo gets a better look at him, red-faced and breathing heavily as he meets his coach. They share a brief hug, back pats and all, and a look of accomplishment and reverence crosses Otabek's face. He is exhausted, but he wouldn't be anywhere else in the world, and that is enough to push Leo to make a staunch decision right then and there.

One, he will talk to someone, anyone, about this, and for once, Leo will be open-minded.

Two, gracefully and decidedly beat Otabek Altin.

They lock eyes in the moment after Leo makes this his goal, and seconds later, Leo grins and winks. _I know_, he hopes is understood. Otabek gives him the faintest smile before he turns to receive his score._ I know you know_, he thinks he sees back. 

-

There's a funny sort of deja vu going on as Leo dials a familiar number. He wants to laugh, and wonders if a stranger's dream can also be a premonition. He came straight to the hotel room after finishing, refusing to let any determination leave him. Almost immediately, the phone is picked up.

"Mijo, incredible job out there, everyone here was on the edge of their seat! Not a single slip-up, just how we taught you." Leo won't correct his mother, he knew he could have exerted himself more here or stayed in the air longer there, but he won't spoil her joy. Not his worst, at all, but still room for improvement. There's always tomorrow.

"Thanks, ma, it means a lot. That's not what I wanted to talk about though. Can I ask a kinda weird question?"

"Of course, I don't have anything to hide from you."

"You 'nd Dad... You aren't linked, right?" The second Leo says that, he wishes he hadn't. The silence that follows is unbearable, downright torturous, and he prays he will find forgiveness for putting his mother through this. "I'm sorry to bring it up to, like, out of the blue, but it's been nagging at me and I know we don't talk about this stuff but-"

"Maybe we should."

"... Yeah. Maybe."

She sighs with the weight only a mother could, and Leo winces. "I guess in today's fancy-schmancy world, that's all the rage, huh? I'll let you in on a little secret. When your father and I met, it really wasn't. We didn't get it, so there wasn't so much focus on that stuff. He and I, we understand that about each other, and we don't let that get between us."

"But why not find that someone? What if they're somehow better than you could have imagined, but you never knew that?"

"Corazon, don't you think they would have found me if that was the case? Your father and I have known each other since we were kids. We've been through it all together; why look for a nobody when he was right in front of me?" Leo can hear her gesturing, and it would make him smile, were it not for what she was actually saying.

Instead, he doesn’t respond, stewing in disagreement and adjusting the pillow behind his lower back. With the experience of another few children, similarly absolute and headstrong, she sighed.

"I'm not telling you it's nothing, I'm saying move with your common sense. You make everything so black and white, mijo, why do you make things more difficult for yourself?" She asks, exasperated. Leo doesn't respond again, probably for the better, letting her words sink in. "Now, if you think you've found your, your— what do kids call it these days? Link, sync friend or whatever, should I be setting up another seat at the table soon?" She says it teasingly, Leo knows that very well, but it still claws at him

"I, I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen or what he's like or if I'm even right."

"Then give it a chance." Leo's mother, a lover of all things dramatic, hangs up on him, and he is left with a painfully familiar dial tone. As he pulls his phone away to stare at the 'Call ended' screen in disbelief, Leo finds the time: 7:25 P.M. It should be too early, but he is sure that if he doesn't go down there right now, he will never do what needs to be done. So Leo laces up his shoes, pulls a hoodie over his head with a pair of earbuds in the pocket, and before the clock strikes the half-hour, Leo is sitting on the hotel bench.

True to his prediction, there's no Kazakh skater to be found, so Leo goofs off on his phone until the leg bouncing becomes unbearable. Then, he paces, looking up only to smile and nod at anyone who unfortunately is not Otabek Altin. He sits back down by 8:45 PM, one borrowed earbud plugged in his ear and in a semi-meditative state. The cold begins to seep through his sweater, and Leo pulls it as tightly around himself as he can. How on Earth does he stand this, he thinks deliriously. Leo is about to begin pacing again when a loud pair of boots come to a short stop. He looks up, and the man of the night is there, phone in hand, clearly about to call someone. 

Slowly, Otabek pockets the phone. He stands up straight and coughs into a gloved fist. "Good work out there."

Leo stands up from the bench, pulling down his hood as if he weren't already recognized. He tugs the lone earbud out and smiles. "You don't have to flatter me every time we talk, y'know."

From behind the popped up collar of a leather jacket, Otabek reddens. He walks closer, and Leo makes way for him, assuming he would take his usual spot in the smack middle. Instead, Otabek sits on the far right. Leo smiles again and sits to the left of him.

"So. I start this by saying I've never done this before, for obvious reasons, so my bad if I'm, like, awkward," Leo starts, folding and unfolding his legs. He pulls until the earbud hanging round his ear falls into his lap. As he twists the entire cord around itself, he begins to speak again. "But, it's crazy, right? Like to have somebody picked out for you like that. And I knew I had a type, but I didn't expect it to be spelled out so clearly like this." He gives Otabek a once-over, and by the way his eyes widen and the blush deepens, Leo horrifyingly suspects their mutual understanding earlier may not have been so mutual.

"Oh," is all he says. 

"Yeah, oh is right." Leo finishes twisting the earbuds. He ties a neat knot and hands it to Otabek, who blankly takes it. Leo sighs and scratches the back of his head. "Okay. I'm not saying this to put you on the spot or anything, but, like. Hi. I hope my reputation doesn't precede me, but my name is Leo. My zodiac is also a Leo, and I hope I'll be happy to meet you." He puts a hand our between them. The 'soulmate' after his last sentence goes unmentioned, but they both hear it loud and clear. 

"Otabek. I… can't remember my sign. I hope this doesn't turn out horribly, either." He takes off his glove as he speaks, revealing the very same trepid hand Leo had watched just a few nights ago and had decided to finally take seriously. Their hands meet, squeeze once meaningfully, and pump twice. It's oddly professional, like this isn't a moment where many people break out in tears and hysterics, one not unlike a proposal daydreamed about constantly. But they don't let go of each other. The far-away streetlight flickers, a stray dog barks somewhere in the distance, and not much has changed, but in a novel way, Leo is certain this is what is supposed to happen. That light is faulty for a reason, something is making that dog is annoyed, and every little decision Leo ever made had led him to this very second, on this very cold bench, holding a very sweaty hand.

That hand shakes itself loose, and Otabek wipes it on his jeans, clearly embarrassed about it. He swallows, shoving both his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. "Did you know the whole time…?"

"No, no, not until, like, two nights ago? And that kinda freaked me out, so, sorry about all that." Leo stares down between his shoes, biting his tongue as a highlight reel of the last couple days plays out.

"I assure you, you weren't."

"And sorry for springing this all on you, I know it must be so out of left field," Leo wants to say more, but something flashes so suddenly over Otabek's face that he stops mid-sentence. "Is something wrong?"

"Actually… I've, um. I've had an idea since we received our assignments," Otabek says, quiet enough then it was nearly lost in the wind or in the roar of a passing car. 

"Dude! You shoulda DMed me or something!" The irony of calling him ‘dude’ is not lost on Leo, but he doesn’t know what else to call him, now in this no man's land of knowing the impossible about each other, but not the important little things. Not what nicknames he likes, not what movies he’s embarrassed to cry during and which spins were the hardest to pull off. Not yet.

The corners of Otabek’s lips quirk up, keen in the moonlight. “That’s what my friend was telling me.” Before either of them do anything, a clear ring shakes both of them out of their skin, and Otabek sheepishly pulled his phone out of his back pocket. 

Leo watches him purse his lips tightly as the voice on the other end goes on an uninterruptible tirade. More than a few times, Otabek tries to put a word in, but it’s very much ‘unstoppable force’ and he just slouches into the bench. By the time he’s able to give real input, a cold shock has begun to set in. Leo focuses his gaze on his own entwined hands. His leg jumps and every few times, it knocks into Otabek’s knee. The temperature doesn’t seem to have any effect on him, and as Leo observes this, Otabek meets his eyes and gives him a sympathetic smile. He holds a hand over the receiver, muffling the voice, and asks, “Would you like to go inside?” It’s a question, but he still stands up, and he ducks his eyes when Leo stands up as well. Otabek gives an obvious excuse to the other line, and the sudden volume is not lost on either of them as he immediately ends the call.

The chime of the doorbell doesn’t bother the receptionist enough to force her to look up from her duties, and they enter the elevator without any announcement, their reflections bending and breaking in the metal walls. Leo is the first to speak.

“So. Trilingual, huh?” 

Otabek meets his eyes in their reflection. He pauses briefly to digest and nods. “Just the three. And a little Arabic.”

“I’ve only got two,” he admits, like almost four languages is the norm.

“Spanish, right?” Otabek turns his head, and Leo nods.

“I would ask how you know that, but, um…” Warmth unfurls throughout his chest, both on and under his skin, and he swallows. 

“It’s on your Wikipedia page.”

A bark of laughter escaped Leo before he could hold it, and he quickly covered his mouth with the back of his hand. The sincerity in Otabek’s voice made him almost afraid to look up and confirm his remark, but he feels a pair of eyes bore into his hairline, so he takes a chance and glances up. “What?”

“I… I never thought this is how I would meet you.”

“Before or after the internet stalking?”

Otabek rolls his eyes pointedly. “Before. Before I had a name or a face, when it was just daydreams and far-away fantasies. Don’t you get that?”

“Kinda. A little.” He wrinkles half his nose and kicks his sneaker against the carpet. “I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?” The elevator jumps, and to keep his balance, Otabek angles his body closer to him. Or, at least, that’s what Leo thinks the reason is.

“Like… This whole,” he waves his fingers fantastically between the two of them, “thing. ‘Cause, I guess it’s that I didn’t super… trust? It? Some stranger being, like, the one.” Leo catches something equal parts alarmed and intrigued in Otabek’s eyes quickly adds, “Or whatever. Just, like, compatible.”

The elevator dings and the doors slide open to a dim, empty hallway. They both step out and start meandering in the vague direction of Leo’s room as the silence starts to suffocate him.

“Regardless. I think we’re pretty compatible.” 

“I, I think so too.” They reach Leo’s door too soon, and he plays with his keycard restlessly. “So, um, not to hold you to anything, but, like, we clearly think the other is cool, right? Like no reservations or whatever? In that case, I know you don’t have, like, Instagram or anything, so maybe it would be a cool idea to, like, y’know?” He fumbles with his phone, nearly dead, and plays with the contacts list to avoid looking up. He looks back up when a different phone is placed in his hands, messaging app open and ready for input.

“I’d like that.”

Leo shakily takes the phone and types his own number in, struggling to keep a stupid smile off his face. He's never been so shockingly thrilled to do this, out of the many times he received and given his number. He hands it back and they share one long look.

“Then… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The free skate. Podiums, medals, exhibitions, Leo had forgotten all about it. For a few brief minutes, his entire world was contained in the space between them, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. He took a breath of air and nodded. “See ya.”

And before either of them realized it, Otabek vanished behind a corner and Leo stood blankly in the barely-a-hallway of his hotel room. He listened closely and heard his roommate’s snoring, finally back from whatever he did. He was certain it wasn’t anything more shocking than what he just pulled off. He carefully pushes off his shoes, more aware than ever of his body and limbs and space. He does all his nightly routine, but he looks at himself in the mirror with a new perspective. He knows he shouldn't be wasting time, the more sleep, the better, but years of following that practice made him weary.

Maybe things shouldn't be like that. Maybe he should crank up a Belle & Sebastian song every once in a while and let all logic fly out the window. It certainly invigorated him more than any moral self-talking to. He splashed one last handful of water in his face and didn't bother drying it off. Instead, he fell dazedly into his bed and let the cool fabric of his pillow suck him into slumber, no worries about what it may hold for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #20 will be going up in.... like 15 minutes ;*  
see ya!


	20. the last one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 02 is for beach, and 22 for optimistic!

Before he grew busy with being a senior skater, Leo would squeeze into a suburban with his three sisters, and their parents would take a day trip to the beach. The occasion didn't matter; be it birthdays, graduations, junior medals, the ocean was often the go-to celebration venue. Leo's family was often the ones to bring food- other aunts and uncles would provide bedding and drinks and ice and all manner of things. 

Even a decade later, Leo can vividly remember tripping through sand, spitting out saltwater, and lathering clinical-smelling sunscreen all over himself, and inevitably getting burnt on the one spot he could not reach because he didn't trust any of his cousins to not tickle him. He missed it sometimes. The loud music, the portable grills, all of it. This is why when faced with planning a well-deserved vacation with Otabek, he knew they needed at least one beach day. One day to feel the warm sand beneath their toes. One day to languish on straw chairs and forget their responsibilities.

Thing is, Kazakhstan is a land-locked country. 

"We don't have to stay in the country, we have a week," Otabek reminds him over dinner. 

"Yeah, yeah, just... It'd be cool if we could bring your family, y'know? A nice treat." Leo worries over his laptop, scrolling past endless travel packages and promises for heavily discounted plane tickets. His plate still lies next to him, untouched.

"Need I remind you this is supposed to be a break? And the twins aren't kids anymore, they're growing up. I'm sure they appreciate the thought, though." Otabek successfully keeps a frown off his face when he eyes the plate, instead knocking his foot against Leo's under the table. They are both wearing socks, a necessity when spending December in Kazakhstan, but Leo still smiles and knocks back, because he does know that. He knows that better and better every time he talks to either one of them and leave the conversation with more words and concepts to Google. And here he thought 26 was still hip and young.

"I guess so. Still, it doesn't narrow the options. I don't know if I feel like exploring a totally new country, either." This is a weak excuse and they both know it. Just down the hall is a wall full of medals from Spain, France, Japan, China, and many more. Anywhere would be just a trip down memory lane, and while that isn't bad, Leo wants to put more thought into their week off. More so, it's their week off. This is a joint thing, and he can't be favoring his wants over Otabek's. There is one place Leo wants to suggest, however. Whether it's a legitimate match is debatable.

"What about... Mexico? I have some family on the coast?" Leo halfheartedly puts it on the table. He doesn't want to favor any one option, but he knows he has a huge bias for this one. He hasn't seen this side of his family in what feels like ages, and his and Otabek's Spanish skills could use some polishing. But it feels like too much of his own wish fulfillment, and Leo feels years-old insecurities.

Otabek sits on the suggestion for some time, sipping on his glass. Leo bites his lip and makes a fleeting note to buy more chapstick. He raps his knuckles on the laptop rapidly as Otabek carefully sets down his glass and reached around the laptop to hold Leo's nervous hand still. "I think that sounds great. But I'm begging you, eat."

With that one detail out of the way, everything could fall into place, but it would have to wait. Leo silently thanks him with a quick kiss to the knuckles, and shuts the laptop to peacefully eat dinner, hands still entwined.

Eight weeks and a 16-hour plane ride later, Leo and Otabek are in Guadalajara, Jalisco, deeply south into Mexico. 

"Oh, and the mosquitos, good God, the mosquitos. Maybe it was 'cause I was, like, 10, but it felt like I was being eaten alive! Luckily, they're not so vicious this time of year," Leo talks like he didn't spend the better part of a day in an airplane seat. However, he was a seasoned veteran in long journeys, so he only cracked his neck and packed a travel pillow. Similarly, Otabek nods alertly next to him.

It was like this throughout much of the plane ride and previous months, too, the infodumping. Before buying the tickets, Leo hadn't realized just how homesick he was, even though he had been born and raised in the United States. His blood settled a certain way on Mexican soil, like it recalibrated to honor generations long gone. Or maybe it didn't, and Leo just missed the food. Either way, it had been too long. After making it through customs and reaching the humid air outside, Leo whips out a camera, an upgrade from the phone.

"Smile wide!" He grins, wrapping an arm around Otabek, who dutifully follows instructions.

More than a few motorists fly down the road as they wait, and Otabek nearly lowers his sunglasses to watch them pass. Leo, of course, notices this and elbows him playfully. "I forgot to mention, bikes are, like, super common down here. Renting one shouldn't be so hard, huh?" 

"You're the expert here, I'll defer to you," Otabek murmurs, lost in mental calculations of gas mileage and how often they'll be on the road. His train of thought is interrupted when they both hear one particular car horn in a sea of horns that is soon followed with a shout. 

"LEO! LEO DE LA IGLESIAS!" 

In the long pick-up lane in front of the airport, one car stops, to the great displeasure of every vehicle behind it. Leo perks up and pulls both their suitcases with him hurriedly in its direction. Otabek follows and gets a flash of deja vu. It seems to him that every trip they have, planned or not, he is always the one following. 

"It's best to keep traffic moving here," Leo explains as Otabek jogs to keep up with him. A collective scream of horns prove him right, and he grimaces. 

Not far from them, a silver sedan pops its trunk open, and Leo instinctively throws the suitcases in with a fervor Otabek rarely sees. He slides into the backseat without looking to the driver, and seconds later, Leo sits right next to him. The car jumps and speeds forwards, and only then does anyone catch their breath.

It turns out the driver is Tomas, a longtime friend of the De La Iglesia's. He speaks Spanish slowly but surely, and Otabek thanks him for that. It's hours until they reach their final destination, and Leo and Tomas use the time to catch up.

"Did Ramira ever grow up?"

"She didn't stop! Lord knows where she got it from. What about Chuy? He graduate yet?

"This year, actually! It was beginning to look like he would never, but he pulled through at the end."

Once they leave the city, it's just the three of them and the air conditioning hard at work. It didn't look like February outside, not in the slightest, and Otabek silently wonders if he packed too many sweaters. He's not the best at speaking Spanish, understanding is always easier, but Leo rubs circles into the back of his hands to reassure him he has not been forgotten.

Somewhere in the middle of asking what someone's brother was doing and how the recent storm had hit, Otabek fell asleep. Next to him, Leo pulls his head away from the window and onto his own shoulder. 

"Boy's going to get a concussion like that, with these roads." Tomas slows down considerably for a speed bump. Despite this precaution, they both wince as the car's wheels complain viciously. 

Leo nods, and Tomas glances at him through the rearview mirror. "What's it been now? Five, six years?"

"Gonna be eight soon," Leo preens. 

In the front, Tomas whistles lowly. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

"I'm not planning on picking any more," Leo admits, and he subconsciously squeezes Otabek's hand. 

The conversation shifts again, but Leo doesn't stop thinking about that confession. It's always been in the back of his mind, but he wonders if he's ever said it aloud. If he should say it out loud. If he and Otabek are on the same picture. He doesn't stop until they reach their destination, a rustic house with an orange tile roof and similar detailing, late into the night. It's supposed to overlook a body of water, but neither of them have the energy to enjoy the view. Instead, they unpack only the essentials for right now in a guest room, and Leo can hear Tomas talking with his aunt downstairs. 

Otabek falls flat on the floral bedsheets, freshly washed and folded for their arrival. The rest of the room looks recently cleaned, too, and Leo feels touched. Even after so long, he is still cherished and valued, and he feels a rush of gratitude. He climbs in next to Otabek, kicking his shoes off to who knows where and feeling perfectly at home.

"Thanks, again," he mumbles into the mattress and in English.

"For what?" Otabek sits up, refreshed from his nap in the car. Leo rolls on his back to face him, and he throws an arm over his eyes.

"Agreeing to come all the way here. It's kinda selfish of me and—" Leo would normally go into graphic detail here about how unbalanced the scales supposedly are, but he is cut off unexpectedly. He moves his arm off his face and wraps it around Otabek's neck, pulling him closer and kissing him back. Like it has many times before, the world seems to quiet around them, a restless sea stills outside and birds take a moment of silence.

When he pulls back, Otabek pointedly gives him a look. "You know how I feel about that kind of talk. Do you let me get away with that?"

"No..."

"Then I'm not going to let you. I came because I wanted to, not because I'm under some contract."

For as many times as Leo has heard that, he wonders why he hasn't gotten sick of it yet. He swallows thickly and smiles. "I know. Just, I like hearing you say it."

He's only half-joking, and it kills him for that to be true. After so many years, after so much time together and learning everything there possibly is to know about each other, it feels immature and trivial to still worry about things like this. Is that what long-term relationships are? Constantly revisiting the same insecurities and needing endless reassurance? What have all those hours meant if they didn't solve those problems? 

With the ease of a more than a decade of experience behind him, Otabek sees right through this turmoil and clicks his tongue. "Stop that, I am not letting you dig yourself into a hole this week." He reaches up and clasps Leo's hands, still wrapped around his neck, and pull them down. He brings the pair of hands to his lips, and as gently as he does it, with the light behind him framing him brightly, Leo feels tight coils letting go of his heart. He feels like he can breathe away, the night sky and its endless stars flowing in and out throughout his lungs. 

"You are such an angel," Leo whispers, quiet enough to hear his aunt downstairs sending off Tomas. 

"No, I just know you," he insists softly. They stay like that for a few beats longer, Leo sprawled tiredly and Otabek bent over him, until the latter's back throws too much of a fit. He pushes himself up to flick off the light and grab a neatly folded blanket. Despite the persistent sun earlier, the night felt equally as cold, and neither of them felt like digging through their luggage for appropriate sleepwear. Airport clothes would have to do. 

They weren't doing so well when the morning sun streamed in and threatened to fry the couple to a crisp. By the time the sweat between them became unbearable and they untangled from each other, Cecilia, Leo's aunt was making breakfast. He didn't remember her very well, only knew that she was now an empty nester and used to stay with his father's family. Hence, she gladly welcomed him and Otabek for the week. When the two of them finally showed themselves downstairs, freshly washed and dressed, she beamed and gestured to two chairs at a table of six. 

"Good morning! Sleep well?" She asks in Spanish, and they both nod gratefully. They each take their spot at the table, and Otabek looks around at the many empty seats. It strikes him strangely; his own family was nowhere near big. 

"How's the year treating you so far? How's the store?" Leo asks, collecting scrambled eggs and grilled nopales on his fork. Cecilia goes into great detail about how after her last child left for college, she's been keeping busy with a shop right down the street. It is not unlike Leo's infodump from yesterday and Otabek smiles. This time, he contributes to the conversation, asking about her children and the area in general. 

Where Leo's hometown reminds him distantly of Kazakhstan, Otabek gazes out the window at nearby, spawling hills covered in trees of every sort imaginable. In the dining room alone, Cecilia keeps bushes and vines and small plants of a wide variety, not to speak of the bigger sorts crawling through her window. This is not an oddity, because the houses visible from the window are identical. The sky was a kind of blue that felt dizzying, felt impossible, almost blinding. It wasn't hard to imagine how someone could feel homesick for this place.

Breakfast led to cleaning up which led to Cecilia leaving to tend to the store. All she left them were keys to a family car and a silence that was typical when a De La Iglesia's big presence left. Otabek inhaled deeply, inhaled all the plants in and out of the house. 

"What now?"

Luckily, Leo has a list. It isn't so much an itinerary as possible date ideas, if the entire week couldn't already be considered a date. He was about to read it out— souvenir buying, club-hopping, newly-added bike renting— but in the brief silence, they could both hear waves crashing into each other animatedly. They gave each other a look.

"Which suitcase has the sunscreen?"

-

A poorly-maintained path took them to the picturesque sandy dunes of La Manzanilla Beach in less than ten minutes. Being a Tuesday, there was a conspicuous lack of people, and Leo is beside himself in relief.

"Down south is a tourist destination, I was worried it would spread here," he explains, dragging some chairs from the house. Otabek, hauling a backpack and towels, looks in that direction curiously. He can't see anyone for miles, nor in the other direction, and it feels a little like a deserted island, if he didn't look behind them. For a first impression, not bad.

Leo pulls the chairs under the shadow of a gathering of palm trees, pushed their shoulders together, and he promptly falls into one. Kicking his shoes with more force than necessary, he digs his feet into the sand. It is still toasty from the morning sun, but cooler as he digs deeper. Otabek soon meets him, squinting in the bright light. 

"We forgot the sunglasses."

"Sunglasses!" Leo snaps his fingers. "That was it, of course. Damn." He hangs his head off the back off the chair. "Whatever."

"Are you even going to get in?" Otabek drops the towels in front of them and pushes off his sneakers more delicately. He melts into the chair, too, running a hand through his jet black hair. Leo watches him do so, and wonders if it will lighten with the sun. He also gazes down Otabek's arms, bare and soon to be burned without protection. They both changed quickly into something more appropriate before leaving, breathable shirts and shorts. No beaches didn't mean Kazakh summers hesitated to shoot to the 30's every year, without fail. Or 90's, if you asked Leo. 

If you asked Leo, he'd have trouble answering anything. Birds chirp and flutter away, annoyed with the intrusion of two people, but it's nothing compared to the blood pounding in his ears. "Probably not, at least not today," he murmurs, forcing his eyes to stare out to the Pacific Ocean. 

It's not the same ocean he used to cross every few months for a few days together, but it sure looks like it. Thousands of miles in the air, looking out an airplane window, most bodies of water look the same, at least to Leo. He had to entertain himself in different ways. Fussily planning his time in Almaty, seeing how many songs he can find in his downloads with the same beats per minute, testing his flexibility in small confines, reimagining their reunion over and over and over again. Little things that international athletes learn to do. In those lone hours, Leo often speculated how Otabek must have dealt rides like this, when they were one-way and with no one to look forward to.

Well, he won't have to anymore, Leo had thought pleasantly. Now, as their shoulders pressed together, as Otabek fiddled with Spotify next to him, Leo has a different thought. I haven't had that kinda flight in a while. I won't have to make that kinda flight ever again.

Huh.

"Hey Beka?" Leo keeps his eyes trained on the ocean for a little longer, admiring how one blue meets another on the horizon. He should get a photo. Instead, he twists his body so his legs knock against Otabek's chair.

"Hm?" He looks up from his phone, hair falling into his eyes. 

"Just realized I'm spending the rest of my life with you. Can I kiss you?" Leo doesn't have to wait for an answer, because as soon as he asks, Otabek meets him in the middle. Like the Pacific Ocean kissing the early afternoon sky, they meld into each other, and Leo feels a hand caress his jaw, feeling up until it tangles in his hair. When he pulls back, Leo thinks this must be why all those white guys ran to Italy when they coughed up blood, back in the day. The sun and the water and the air really made you go a little mad in the right way.

"God, I love you so much, can we not go back? Who even cares about national recognition, let's just swim and get sun wrinkles and stuff," Leo raves. He raises his hand to link with Otabek's, interlocking their fingers. He squeezes tightly, wildly.

"I love you, too, and I'm sure that would be great, but we have plenty of time left here, Leo," and the way Otabek says his name makes him pull him in for one more meaningful kiss, grinning all the way through. 

"Still! Still!" Leo doesn't know what he wants to say next, so he keeps repeating himself. "Still! I just can't believe we're really here, I'm really sitting here with you and you really came with me. And next week, we're going home, to our home, and then, and then who knows! All I know is that you're gonna be there, and that's the best way things could have turned out."

Otabek's breath catches in his throat and he presses his lips, joyfully red alongside the rest of his face, tightly together. He is thinking hard about his next few words, and Leo is delighted by that, especially after his own display. He presses his thumb to the wrinkle between Otabek's eyebrows, and Otabek can't help but crack a smile. "I couldn't ask for it any other way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAHISFVSISDHSFDHKVVJSHSDJHGSD I'M HERE I'M FINALLY HERE!!!!!! college crisis and finals season be damned!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> behind the scenes secret, this was actually finished before the AU sequel! i jsut like the finality of this one uwu!
> 
> thank you very very very much to you, the patient reader. thank you to the google notes apps for my offline drafting. no thanks to myself for making this my hobby, i'd rather study closed differentials and points of inflections than do this again. 
> 
> but i'll see ya'll soon! thanks again ! xx

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! hope you have a lovely halloween and even better november (or nanorimo, if you're participating)! see you soon!


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